I Knew You Were Trouble
by willthewisp
Summary: Mid-S2 AU. WARNING: Suicide attempt, depression.::: Laurel's been a pawn and a victim in someone else's game for quite a while. And she's done with that. She's done with everything. Except Slade Wilson is not done with her. A different take on how Black Canary emerged from the ashes of Laurel Lance's previous life.
1. Drowning

**_Warnings:_ Suicide attempt. Depression. Violence in further chapters. May be triggering.**

 **Ships:** Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance/Slade Wilson, Thea Queen/Roy Harper (more as it continues)

 **A/N (and _reasoning/origins_ for story):** This is probably going to be another long and slow one. XPosted on AAO.

It took a 3 year pause for me to star watching Arrow again (and of course there's only 2 seasons on Netflix in my area), but even if I could procrastinate watching more of the show - second season really annoyed and bugged me.

I was not a fan of Laurel the first time I watched show, and I still (the second time around) found her somewhat flaky and annoying in Season 1, but I was also more critical of other characters, and the way they let her spiral down in what was a logical reaction to numerous traumatic events..

The whole victim blaming thing of - Quentin's "There are people with actual problems in the therapy group" and Oliver's "You think you're the only one who has problems" were something that just stuck with me as an awful thing to say to someone you claim to love who is suffering. So I had to address the issue. And so the idea and the story came about.

* * *

 **IKYWT**

 _Drowning_

"And you are still blaming everybody, but yourself..."

Oliver's words reverberated in her skull. And every time she heard them, she got angrier. She grasped her bag tighter, the strap digging into her shoulder, and walked faster. She didn't even look to the sides as she crossed the street. God, she was so angry. Oliver's words were designed to hurt. And they did. They were designed to make her feel guilty... And she did. Didn't anyone get it?

She _was_ guilty, because she couldn't just roll over and forgive. She was guilty, because bad things kept happening to her, and she was losing it. She was spiraling. And instead of helping – her family and friends judged her for it. So, yes, she felt guilty for not being perfect and light, and full of forgiveness. After everything, she was just full of pain. But more than that she felt anger.

Six years ago Oliver had cheated on her with _her sister_. They had _died_. Her parents _divorced_. Her father became _a drunk._ And through it all she couldn't mourn, because she was so angry at their betrayal, and she was drowning in guilt, because of that anger. Her mother left – seemingly forgetting that she still had a living daughter who needed her. And she couldn't fall apart through it all, because her father already was disintegrating at the seams. She had to help him. She had to save him. It was the only thing she could fix in her broken life.

And then she had found purpose in law, in justice and order. She studied hard. She worked hard. She became one of the youngest and best lawyers in Starling city. She rose from all her heartbreak like a phoenix. Except in truth she just buried her pain. As deep as she could, hoping it would never come out again. Her life became structured and predictable. Her battles – in court, ones that she could win. She had nothing to fight with against her own demons, so she pushed them aside – didn't dare sort through them.

And now... Oliver was back. Sarah was alive. They were even back together. So great for them. It choked Laurel how neither of them had ever thought to apologize for what they did to her. Sarah was her sister. And she betrayed her without giving it a second thought, and somehow – Laurel was the bad guy. Why should five years away erase everything? Why should Sarah be forgiven with no questions asked just because she returned? Why Sarah was so venerated, so incapable of being wrong that even when she was… It just didn't seem to count.

If it truly made them happy – Oliver and Sarah – to be together, Laurel knew that she could find it in herself to be happy for them, but she did need them to ask for forgiveness. Five years had gone by and she was stuck, she still hurt. Like she tried to understand them – she needed them to understand her. To respect her. To take into account that Laurel Lance did have feelings, and that she was hurt by what they did. Did she really mean so little to them that breaking her heart and tossing her aside was just another order of the day? That it didn't even occur to them that it would burn her inside out like an exploding sun?

Laurel stomped down on all the feelings that rose in her throat – that she was unloved, uncared for, insignificant, and unimportant. But all the supporting facts emerged nonetheless.

The only reason her mother had even contacted her in the first place was because of Sarah. Her father was a hypocrite. Oliver who claimed to be her friend... Was never really there for her. Oh, he paid for the drinks and the taxi, but most of the time - he just wasn't there. Laurel rather well remembered how he had handed her off to Thea when she had been drinking to her disbarment. Thea… She had gone out of her way to help Thea, and, no, she hadn't done it to get something in return, but funny how when she needed help all she got was a taxi ride home. And isn't showing up – the most important thing a friend can do? She had been at hospitals and Queen Mansion every time something happened. But perhaps she was just like another vase or wall decoration. Taken for granted that she'll be there – something that everyone was used to, but nobody really needed.

She swallowed tears and gritted her teeth against harsh breaths. She didn't want to have these thoughts. She wanted to push them aside like she had dealt with every disappointment, setback and hurt since Queen's Gambit was lost to the sea. But her mind was unhelpful – reminder after reminder emerged that supported the idea that… She just wasn't worth it. Worth anything. That she was broken.

Within two years, she had been kidnapped: multiple times; shot at, poisoned, been trapped in a collapsing building, lost probably the only true friend she had had and now: lost her job, her license, her family. The only thing she had left was her sanity. She stopped and rummaged in the bag for pills. She'd rather do without the sanity either. It hurt too much.

She was at the end of her rope. So she wasn't as strong as everyone wanted her to be. She hurt. She hurt so badly that she could hardly breathe, and the drink and the pills numbed it. She could exist if she could concentrate on one thing at a time and the pills helped. She was drowning. And what did her father tell her? What did Oliver tell her? That she was not the only one who had it bad. That she should pick herself up. Get over it.

Laurel wanted to. She'd cut out her own heart if it would stop the pain. Except she was human. She just didn't function that way. Somehow knowing that other people had it worse didn't make her feel better. She was falling apart and doing her utmost to seem fine. She hardly slept, because of nightmares. She got scared of loud noises, of passing cars – she had anxiety attacks. She didn't eat. All her clothes hung off of her as if she was a toothpick. But worst of all... If she didn't take the pills – then she felt as if a black monster would devour her. Her grief, guilt and pain. It filled her being until she could see only black.

Laurel wanted to hate them. The mother who didn't care. The father who blamed her for her depression and addiction as if she had chosen to fall apart. The sister who broke her heart. The friend who was never much of a friend at all. She couldn't.

She loved her mother even though Sarah would always be the favorite daughter. She loved her father even though he had let her down when she needed him most. She had pulled him out of bars for years and he wrote her off for one DUI. She loved her sister no matter the pain it gave her to love someone who didn't care about her in return. She loved Oliver. Even though he lied and cheated, and hurt her. Even though he disappeared when she needed him when Tommy died, and even though he tore into her for not caring enough about his problems when her daily challenge was to breathe normally. She loved Oliver even though his hypocrisy tore her apart. The king of bad behavior – man whose petty crimes were paid off, who showed up drunk at the opening of a science institute in his own father's honor; the man who was consistently missing when he was needed the most and evaded responsibility as if it was the plague. She loved them all.

But she just couldn't deal with the pain of it anymore. Somehow she had ended up at a bridge. The sky was pitch black. The darkest part of the night. She must have been walking for hours. She didn't feel the pain of the high heels she was wearing. She didn't feel the cold. She did feel tears on her cheeks. She was so tired of crying. She was tired of trembling hands, of breath catching in her chest – wrapping around her throat and choking her. She was tired of being scared, of being a victim. And she didn't want to deal with any of it anymore. Laurel just wasn't as strong as people pretended she was. She couldn't win against her family, friends and her own demons. It was just too many battles to fight, and she had no more strength left.

She climbed over the railing and took a deep breath. The night was dark. The waters beneath were black. The lighting on the bridge was eerie. Her parents would be okay. Oliver would be okay. They had Sarah now. And Sarah had never much cared for Laurel. Or she would never have done what she did. But it was okay now _. It was all water under the bridge…_ Laurel laughed involuntary at the thought.

The straps of her handbag where heavy on her wrist. The rings on her fingers cut into them, because she was gripping the railing so hard it turned her knuckles white. Her coat was like a cape in the soft wind. She was leaning forward, balancing precariously with her high heels on the small ledge. She took a deep breath. Looked at the empty darkness in the sky and smiled.

It felt like forever since she had smiled. It was liberating. It reminded her that the roar inside her chest cavity can be quietened. It promised her peace. Her mind was clear. Her heart beat steadily and calmly. She felt empty and like nothing in the world could hurt her anymore – that's what the pills did for her. And when all the thoughts quietened in her mind, she let go.

Except she didn't fall. She hardly moved. Someone held her by her wrists and a deep voice spoke behind her, "Now, you don't want to be doing that, love."

"Let me go," she asked, calmly, quietly. She could still feel it. That moment of calm that had finally, finally filled her being with peace that she hadn't felt in forever. Didn't she deserve some respite? Even the worst of criminals are granted their mercies. Where was Laurel's? All she needed was to be let go.

But the stranger didn't abide her wishes. Strong and fast, he moved his hands from her wrists and grasped her by her waist, and pulled her back. She was back on the sidewalk faster than she could comprehend.

"What kind of a monster would it make me if I let a pretty girl jump to her death?" he asked, his voice gruff and accent foreign, his one good eye sparkling with something like humor.

"I don't need a hero," she said tiredly. Her body and mind still numb – both from what she had just attempted and the drugs still in her system.

"I'm not a hero, love," the man laughed.

"I don't need a savior either," Laurel elaborated. She just wanted to collapse. Her body felt insubstantial – she felt like if she would fall her bones would rattle, with a low, hollow sound. Pain like cancer had eaten through her body and left just a carcass.

"But you do need a ride home, I'd guess," the man proposed.

"I need to be left alone," Laurel was not going back to her apartment. She couldn't. Whether anybody was there or not anymore… If there was – she was not ready for another confrontation. She had no more things to say to any of them. And if there was nobody – then she didn't want to face the choice of either soldiering through to another day or… doing _this_ in a place where her body would be found. No. She wanted the river to carry her to the ocean. For her body to be lost forever. She wanted to drown like she had been drowning for the past six years.

"Look, love," the man said. "I'm not leaving you, and you don't seem the type to budge either. So how about we resolve this in a civilized manner?"

Laurel cocked an eyebrow.

"Coffee. We'll talk. Let's see who's more stubborn about getting what they want," he offered. A faint smirk twisted his lips.

"I could just wait for you to leave," Laurel replied, air like a dead thing in her lungs.

"Yeah, but that would take a long time. And sooner or later people will start to wonder. Cops might come. I don't think you're looking for that kind of audience."

She took a shallow breath, her lips pressed together so tightly that lipstick hardly hid how pale they were. "Fine. One coffee."

He offered her his elbow, "Slade Wilson."

She exhaled. What did it matter anyhow? "Laurel Lance."


	2. Serenity

**Serenity**

It didn't occur to Laurel that there probably weren't many coffee places open at this time of night until she was already at the back of her savior's limousine watching the streetlights pass by. She swallowed for what felt like the first time in forever to ease the dryness in her throat. It was not her problem to find a place to drink coffee. She almost laughed. Her breath clouded the toned window. The glass was cool against the heated skin of her face. It was not her problem to find a coffee place. It was ridiculous how freeing the stupid thought was. She had no care in the world, because she wanted nothing of it anymore.

It was still dark. The morning hadn't come yet and every passing streetlight seemed like a wasted minute of her life. Laughter bubbled in her throat. They'd have to drive a lot longer to account for all the wasted time in her life. There were years of it. She wondered if there were enough streetlights in the world for every minute.

The city streets passed her by like strangers. She was sure she knew them – she had lived in Starling city all her life after all, but tonight – she recognized none of it. And she paid no attention to road markers. She couldn't care less where Slade was taking her or what he would do once they were there. Laurel had made her decision; she had taken her step off the ledge. It hadn't ended the way she'd imagined, but she'd still done it. What could possibly come after that could compare?

If Slade spoke to her – she didn't hear it, and she offered no conversation of her own. She felt.. strangely empty. And different. Everything in her that could burn was in ashes, and even she didn't know what it was that was left. She'd been in pain for so long, it was strange to feel.. nothing. It wasn't good, it wasn't bad. It was nothing.

"We're here," Slade interrupted her wondering, and predictably the car drew to a stop.

"Here's a hotel," Laurel replied, frowning a little as she stared at the shiny Marriott letter signs above the grand door.

"Well, it's slim pickings for coffee at this hour of night, love. You'll have to endure my skills with teapot."

Laurel snorted with laughter. Instinctively, involuntarily. It surprised her more than it surprised Slade. She had forgotten she could laugh without thinking about it – without faking it, without choosing the appropriate moment in a conversation where she should react lest someone ask if she was okay.

"This isn't exactly what we agreed upon," she remarked, but her hand was already on the door handle. She knew she would go with him. Did he?

"We agreed on coffee, love. This is it. And you don't seem the kind to back out on a deal, are you?" smile made his lips curl up. Amusement made him look more handsome, she thought.

"You just met me tonight," she replied. "As far as you've seen my track record isn't impressive," she was still here, wasn't she?

"Oh, I think that in your defense we can say that there were some unforeseen external forces at work," he replied. She _had_ let go. He had caught her.

The door opened and Laurel jumped slightly, in surprise. The doorman had opened it for her, but it didn't take away her choice. She had already made it, after all. Laurel climbed out of the limousine, her ankle twisting, unstable and tired in her high heels. She caught herself on the door frame before either the doorman or Slade could try and reach for her. "I've got this," she flashed a convincing smile at the doorman as she righted herself and stepped on the red carpet that was rolled from the parking space to the entrance. "Thank you."

It was amazing how the words weren't hard to say. Most days talking with people took energy she didn't have. Sometimes she dreaded interaction with another human being so much, she hid in the bathroom until her hands stopped shaking. And lies always were so heavy and tasteless in her mouth – like wet cardboard. But now? She said she had herself in hand. And the words flowed easily as if she could breathe like a normal person. She smiled and it didn't feel like she was cutting it into her flesh with something sharp. She felt lightheaded with relief.

"Is there anything you'd like?" he asked her as they walked across the lobby.

"Hmm?" she queried – the hotel was beautiful. She couldn't remember if she'd been here before. Some of the décor she recognized – but at one point all the beautiful things started to blend together, and she had seen a lot of them in her life.

"Food? Snacks?" Slade explained as he led her towards the elevators. "I don't have a minibar, I rent an apartment here and my fridge is empty, but I do know for a fact that they have a restaurant."

"It's night. The restaurant will be closed!" she protested lightly as she stepped in the elevator.

"Any restaurant worth its salt starts with the food preparation early in the morning. And they have breakfast to serve in about..," he checked his watch, "two hours. There's definitely someone there."

"And you just assume that you could make them do what you want?" where was this teasing tone coming from? She wondered as she watched Slade push the penthouse level button. Laurel couldn't remember the last lighthearted conversation that she had had. She spoke as if she had a sense of humor, as if words came easy, as if being social and communicable wasn't an effort, but like... breathing. She hadn't even had an easy time of breathing lately.

"I can be pretty persuasive," he flashed her a self-satisfied grin, but she didn't read conceit in it, only good natured humor. She didn't even notice how a mirror smile rose in her face.

"I'm sure," she replied. And then before she even registered in her mind the words that she wanted to say, she said, "Otherwise I don't see how you could have thought that eyepatch with that tie is a good match."

Her jaw dropped and she started apologizing before she even noticed that he was laughing. "I'm so sorry. That was so insensitive. I'm so sorry."

He waved it off. "Don't worry about it," he gestured to his eye, "but that insult to my sense of style, however, can't go unanswered. We'll.." the elevator interrupted him with a small ding and opening of doors.

"Have to study color charts to teach you color coordination?" she shot back at him as she walked into the penthouse. A part of her was horrified at her comments, but it was a small, miserable part buried under ten feet of ice and an ocean of torment. She embraced the emptiness. How easy it was to smile.

"Oh, I'm wounded," Slade grasped his heart theatrically and slumped against the elevator door. Laurel laughed.

Her gaze wandered around the surroundings – it was a beautiful apartment. It seemed to follow an open-floor plan mostly, she guessed that the few walls separated bedroom and bathroom areas deeper into the penthouse. "So do you often pick up girls in the middle of the night and take them home?"

It was Slade's turn to laugh. "Well, you have taken the spot of my regular date."

"Oh, my," Laurel exaggerated appropriately. "I hope she can forgive me."

"You'll have to watch your back," he replied, laughter still in his voice. As Slade moved into kitchen area, Laurel moved towards the windows. They were floor-to-ceiling and Starling city was at her feet. It was serene. More than anything she wished she could grasp that feeling of serenity and blanket herself in it. Never feel anything else ever again.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Slade asked from his spot by the coffee maker. The little machine whirred and chirred as it ground up the beans, boiled the water and mixed the coffee.

"Mhm," Laurel shrugged non-committally. Darkness was lifting – pink rays of sunrise were coating the horizon. It felt strange watching it. Like seeing full sunrise would commit her to something that she wasn't ready for yet. She wanted to stay a creature of the night for a while longer.

As she sat on the bar stool by the counter, Slade already had a cup of coffee to slide her way. It spun as it slid on the counter and spilled a few drops. "Dammit," he cursed and started looking through the cabinets for a paper towel.

Laurel just smiled and picked the drops up with her finger while Slade's back was turned. It was messy and childish, and completely unprofessional. She laughed as she licked her finger, and picked up the small cup to nurse it close. The warmth from it felt as impactful as the heat of a new sun.

Slade wiped the already dry desk. Took another look at it, as if confused, and then decided to forget about it. As he took his cup of coffee and leaned on the counter opposite to her.. A silence settled. She watched him as she slowly sipped her coffee and he watched the rising sun, completely ignoring her for the moment.

Laurel took her cue from him. She might have discovered a reactionary side to herself that no longer seemed to exhaust her to the bone to use, but she definitely didn't want to start a conversation that seemed long overdue by now. There was no chance that Slade had forgotten how they met if even for a little while Laurel had allowed herself to forget. There was only one thing they had left to discuss as much as Laurel would prefer to start a random topic about Renaissance art. There was only one reason why they were here.

It might have been a minute, or it might have been more than half hour. It was definitely much lighter outside and Laurel's cup was halfway empty. "You're not going to say anything?" she was a lawyer; she couldn't leave something well enough alone. And the _waiting_ in the silence seemed like a physical thing that had started to wear on her. Laurel wanted to avoid dead weight on her shoulders like a plague. She had had too much of that.

He finally looked at her.

"I know you want to ask me something," she continued bracing herself for the question that she knew she wasn't ready for – _will you try again?_ She had no idea. She wanted to make no promises. She was lost and for the moment – that was the best thing that had happened to her in a while.

Slade stared at her as if he was trying to see into her soul. She was sure her face bore all the marks of her anxiety, her misdeeds, her sins. But his gaze was kind. "What will you do now?"

And the ground dropped beneath her feet. Was she going to go to work? And pretend nothing happened? Would she go home? Could she bear to? A million questions rose in her mind, each more agitating than the last, but effortlessly she brushed them all aside, quieting worry with the calm of just not knowing. "Sleep," she was exhausted, and the only thing she knew for sure was that she was in no position to make any kind of decision now. She needed rest and may the rest of the chips fall where they may.

"I have a guest room," Slade replied. He didn't offer to take her home again. He didn't try to talk her into anything or out of anything. He just... was there when she needed it, providing what she needed without any demands of his own.

Laurel wondered whether she trusted him or was it just that she didn't care what happens. "Thank you."


	3. 14 hours later

**14 hours later**

Laurel woke with a sharp intake of a breath. As if she was startled awake. And for a few blissful moments – she had no idea who she was, where she was and what had happened. Everything was calm and quiet. And then reality settled in like a smog over a metropolis.

She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead as she shuffled around in bed until she managed to sit up. Her head felt heavy. Not exactly hurting, but fuzzy like she had slept for too long. But a quick glance told her it was still dark outside. It couldn't have been more than half hour.

She pulled her knees up to her chest. The down filled blanket was soft and thin and melded itself around her with every intent to keep her warm. Memories came flooding in. She knew where she was. She knew why she was here. She couldn't even look at the door, dreading the moment when she'd have to go out and face Slade.

She'd been too exhausted to care before, but now... She found that she felt shame. It was a bottomless pit in the middle of her chest and even as she tried to reason herself out of it – she realized she was sick and tired of trying to convince herself to feel anything but what she was feeling. She took a deep breath. And she admitted to herself that she felt shame. But as Laurel tentatively examined her feelings – it wasn't shame about what she did. She didn't know how to feel about that.

No, what she felt wasn't general – it was very specific and aimed at Slade. He had seen her at a very private moment, and... He had saved her, but... whatever he might expect from her now – she knew that she could only be a disappointment. She was neither as sassy as she had been when he brought her here, nor was she in need of constant maintenance and hand holding. She... Laurel realized that the more attention she paid to every minute detail the smaller shrunk that bottomless pit. It was a sad reflection that – maybe if she had done that before things would never have spiraled so far out of control.

Because – if there was one thing she knew for sure – it was that she couldn't go back. Not to Sara – she couldn't face her sister at all. She wanted to love her, but all she felt was anger and hate, as shameful as that admission felt even when she only made it to herself. She couldn't face Oliver – he... He had been a driving force in her life for... forever. And Laurel no longer felt inclined to let him drive her off the road whether intentionally or, worse, unintentionally. Her mother was also out - Laurel knew she meant well, but for Dinah there had always been a favorite daughter, and it wasn't Laurel. And Laurel realized that whatever happens from now on – she would put herself first, whether that meant living another day, or taking a leap. Which also left her father out in the cold. Laurel shuddered imagining the lectures he'd give her – about Sara, about her attitude and... Heaven forbid, if he were to find out about the previous night.

And all that reasoning – it left her alone. And she found that the thought didn't scare her. She had been running on fumes for years, and now she was all out. Laurel realized that she needed time, and more than time – she needed space. And with that her train of thought came back to station – Slade. As accommodating as he had been – she could hardly stay in his hotel room any longer.

Determined, she got out of bed, pulled on the dress that seemed way too clean for her having walked all across Starling city the previous night before reaching the bridge, and taking a deep breath she ventured out into the apartment.

It was dark and quiet. Lights came on automatically as she walked, but nothing else. There were no sounds of someone else. In the kitchen area she came upon a note – _"Help yourself to anything you want. If there's something you need and it's not there – call the reception. I'll be back around dinnertime. -SW"_

"Dinnertime?" she muttered and a quick glance at a microwave clock told her that it was nearly 7 PM. She had slept the whole day away. "Oh, my..." she ran back to her room and rummaged through her bag for her phone. If she had been away for a whole day without giving anyone any notice…

She grazed her skin on her keys until she found her phone. She pressed the 'on' button. Again and again. The battery was dead. The screen was dark. Laurel laughed, involuntary, in dismay – she remembered how she had worried about her job – _yesterday, was it? –_ how she had thought about what she would say, what she would do. How ridiculous. Only now she remembered that she had no job. She'd been fired. Faced a disciplinary hearing. Her career was very nearly done and dead. "More like tethering on the edge like me," _how ironic._

But that still left her family. As much as she didn't want to face anyone of them, she was sure that they were worried. It was an uncomfortable feeling all along her spine. She didn't want them to worry. She just didn't want to see them.

She had no charger with her and that again presented her with a dilemma. She could leave… She'd likely never see Slade again, and it would save her the awkwardness of seeing him now. But it seemed too… Laurel struggled for the right word for the feeling. _Impolite._ She didn't feel indebted to him for what he'd done, but it seemed poor thanks for the understanding and a place to sleep to just leave without a word and… _Leave him wondering if I… If I went to try again. I can't do that._ She wanted to part on good terms.

She called the reception and asked for a charger. And a pizza. It was either the massive exploration of her mental state or the massive amount of time that had passed since she last ate – but Laurel was starving. Idly she wondered when it was last that she had desired food so much. She did not order alcohol.

She nervously tapped the counter as she waited for the phone to recognize it was plugged in to a power source and load up at least 1% so she could turn it on. She dreaded what she'd find there. Coffee machine whirred softly in the background (she hadn't found a kettle for tea) and she nearly dropped the phone as she grabbed it when it finally showed a sign of life.

Three unanswered calls. And two text messages. She played the messages that the callers had left first. There was her dad – telling her off for walking out, for ruining the dinner, asking her to get help. Laurel sighed. She forgot about the coffee and slowly slid down to the floor, her back to the kitchen cabinets. She replayed the message. Her father meant well. But she wasn't her father's daughter. She wasn't an alcoholic. Laurel realized that that's what probably most alcoholics tell themselves, but it wasn't that she craved drink. She craved oblivion. She was sure there was a fine line of distinction between one condition and the other. Placing the wine bottle out of her sight didn't correlate with a desire to live in her mind.

The other was a message from her friend telling her that unfortunately there were no job offers she could help with until the situation with the BAR committee is cleared up. She wished Laurel luck. Laurel nearly laughed. Then she read a text from her mother saying that she was headed back to Central city for a little while. The other text was a discount advertisement for a shoe store.

Laurel wondered whether she even wanted to listen to the last message. She'd been gone for a day and nobody seemed to have noticed. Whether people were finally giving her the space she had asked for… Or they simply didn't care. What was it that Oliver had said to her? That she wasn't the only one with problems? Her father had said something similar. Well…

 _Laurel Lance, always trying to save the world,_ Tommy's words came to her. "I'm sorry," she couldn't even please her family, much less the world. And she was done. It felt cowardly and ungrateful – wasn't she supposed to be perfect? Wasn't that what Oliver used to always croon in her ear? That she was perfect? Perfect people forgave unfailingly and completely. Perfect people could save the world. Laurel Lance at best had a chance to save herself now, and survival required selfishness. She could no longer just give – her heart, her time, her strength. She had nearly nothing left.

Laurel turned off her phone without listening to the last message. She was done.

 **IKYWT**

He wasn't surprised when he saw Sara. He had known she was alive. Hell, he had known _what_ she is, but seeing her still threw him for a moment. Seeing her was once again seeing a living, breathing confirmation that Shado was dead. Shado was dead and this useless, heartless, treacherous thing was alive, because Oliver Queen had been given power over life and death, and he had chosen the craven little puppet instead of Shado.

What enraged him most of all was that… Shado had loved Oliver. Slade may have loved Shado – so much that her death would now forever haunt him. But Shado had loved Oliver and Oliver not only turned her down, but he _chose_ her death. Slade couldn't imagine a more backstabbing, disgusting lowlife than Oliver Queen, and he'd had a buddy who turned coat and tortured him on the island. Oh, his blood boiled at the sight of the pair of them. It burned on the tip of his tongue – a throwaway comment about Laurel that would leave them distressed and scrambling at bits and pieces. But he swallowed it.

He wasn't even sure why – why he chose to keep Laurel a secret. He reasoned with himself that it was better to have an ace in a pocket, but the thought didn't ring true.

Just to see Oliver squirm he was extra gentle and charming saying his goodbyes to Moira. The thought of making himself a friend of the family and a constant public nuisance to Oliver was almost amusing. He might even try to seduce Moira. It was not nearly enough what Oliver Queen and Sara Lance deserved, but it was entertaining nonetheless.

He knew there was a gun aimed at his head. Just as he knew that it wouldn't fire. Slade always took care to control his surroundings, and as much as he had tried to beat that into Oliver's head when he trained him on the island – the kid hadn't grasped the thought in its entirety. As Slade saw it – Oliver could barely see beyond his own nose – always missing something, always at a crucial moment. And it seemed that Queen had done his best to teach his own flaws to his team of incompetents. It was almost too easy.

He climbed into his car, and reminded Oliver of his promise.

 **IKYWT**

When Slade was gone, Oliver went to look for Diggle. He found him passed out, and called for Sara and Roy to help take him back to Verdant. He would have done it himself… He owed to Diggle to do it himself, but he couldn't bring himself to leave his family just yet. He had seen that they were alright, but he had to check again. He needed a few moments with his mother and sister.

And that was when – a while later as everything calmed down, Thea pulled him aside and said that she was worried about Laurel.

"What?" his sister's words reverberated in his skull, but the full meaning didn't sink in yet.

"I said, I'm worried. I called her and left her a message, and she hasn't answered," Thea repeated, pursing her lips in annoyance. "It's been a while, and…," didn't Oliver get it? "Laurel always answers." To Thea at least. She and Laurel had always had an amicable relationship, but – Laurel was always more Oliver's, however since Thea's trial and work at the CNRI, they had become much closer. So close that Thea knew that Laurel would always answer her calls. So close that when worried – Thea turned to the person she trusted most for help, her brother.

Oliver hardly heard his sister. His ears were painfully ringing with another voice.

" _You cannot die until you have suffered as I have suffered. Until you have known complete despair. And you will. I promise."_


	4. Thorns in our roses

**Thorns in our roses**

"I half expected to find you gone," Slade's voice carried all the way from the elevator.

Laurel looked up from her spot on the floor – two pizza boxes open, one half eaten, the other just started. She was sipping Cola from a bottle and had a laptop open. "That just didn't seem polite," she replied and nudged a pizza box in his direction. "Food?"

It was almost domestic. Except she was tethering on an edge and light conversation was her distraction – a nook that she was hanging on. And he was just coming from the Queens where he had made every effort to make Oliver regret ever having known him. But Slade had more of an insight into her thoughts than she did into his.

"Well, I'm certainly grateful for your manners," he replied and after a moment's thought dropped near her on the floor and grabbed a slice – completely unconcerned that his three-thousand-dollar suit was now rumpled and about to have a pepperoni stain.

Laurel graced him with a tight smile and her conversation seemed to run out. She stared blankly at the computer screen for a moment before gathering her thoughts, "Thank you for letting me stay last night."

"You're welcome, love," he replied easily, and a moment later made an effort to make her feel more at ease, "You made me dinner, I'd say we're even now."

Laurel did laugh. "If a take-out pizza is all it takes, you're easy to please," she said, and then, "I found the laptop on the desk. It wasn't locked and… I just needed to look something up. I didn't mean to snoop," she jostled the laptop in her lap, explaining herself. In hindsight it no longer seemed such a good idea to just… borrow it, but what she said was true – it had been in plain sight and open for use. And she… Well, she couldn't stand any more introspection. Not just right then.

"No worries, love. I left it out for you," he said, and that karmic slice of pepperoni dropped on the lapel of his suit jacket.

"Oh," she closed her open tabs and deleted her history. "You must think you know me very well," there was an edge in her voice.

"Not at all," he blinked and lied. She was Laurel Lance. Oliver Queen's love of life. He knew _everything_ about her. "I just guessed you might need some distraction if you stuck around."

"Ah," she forced a smile, her ruffled feathers calming. "That's very thoughtful. I'm sorry. I'm just rather…," she struggled for the right word – tense? On the edge? Everything she might say seemed too ironic. "Thank you."

"You already said that," he noted. "You're welcome nonetheless, but do you always apologize so much?" he frowned and reached for napkins.

"It's called being polite," she frowned.

"There's polite and then there's you," Slade cleaned his hands. "Do you always think you owe everyone everything? Because you don't owe me anything yet. Me – being a decent human being or... a dashing hero, depending how you choose to look at it - is on me not on you."

Laurel froze – her bottle of cola halfway to her mouth. She put it back down. Slade's words had made an impact. "Well, decent human being that you are – thank you. And I think I should go."

Slade looked at her darkly and Laurel felt pinned to the spot. To her it seemed as if he was looking into her soul – judging what she meant by her few words. She dreaded a question from him. The same one she had been afraid of the night before. _Will you try again?_ She was not ready to answer that.

She could hardly even admit to herself that last night's events had placed her on a different path than the headlong self-destruction one that she had been rushing down on. She couldn't resist exploring the newness that seemed to surround everything now, at least a little bit. But she also couldn't commit herself to anything yet.

She was still in a daze. In a bit of a shock. She could hardly believe that she had really been ready to do what she had almost done. She couldn't name it in her own mind. How could she make any promises now?

"As long as you're aware that you're welcome to stay, you're free to go," he finally said. He didn't think she'd try again. He'd seen people like her – dancing on the edge of abyss. He'd seen the look in eyes of those that would fall. He no longer saw it in hers. But he still made a mental note to send someone to watch her from a distance. He needed her alive. As dramatic and satisfying it would be to have Oliver experience losing the love of his life to suicide – it would just be a tragic coincidence. No way for Oliver to know that he deserved that pain because of Shado. That it was entirely his fault.

No, Slade needed Laurel Lance alive for now. Her death would not make the maximum impact on Queen at this moment. He had a whole plan, and she had almost ruined an essential part of it the previous night. He had almost missed how _off_ she had been. He had almost not made it in time. Slade promised to himself that _that_ would not happen again. He chided Oliver on not controlling his surroundings and he had nearly made the same mistake.

"Laurel?" he looked up, as she was already by the elevator. "Don't be a stranger."

A soft, half smile tugged at her lips. Elevator played a short jingle signifying opening doors. "I'll be seeing you around, Slade Wilson," she promised and disappeared into the elevator.

He waited until the flashing letters showed that she was on the ground floor before grabbing for the laptop. She may have deleted her search history, but there were a number of ways to retrieve it. It didn't even take him a long time, and when he had had a few moments to process the information… He laughed. "Oh, you're good as gold, love."

 **IKYWT**

Oliver was running out of his house like a bat out of hell. And phoning Felicity at the same time. She picked up on the second ring and it seemed too late to him already. "Find me Laurel."

"Oliver?" Felicity felt a little confused. She had just helped Diggle get settled (and given up on trying to persuade him to take something for the headache he had), and…

"I've been calling her and she isn't picking up. Can you track her phone?" Oliver explained through nearly gritted teeth as he jumped into his car.

"Uhm, yes, of course," Felicity nearly jumped at his tone and run towards her computers. "Is something the matter? Because otherwise it doesn't seem… Well, it _seems_ like a bit of an invasion of privacy, and I might not…"

"She's not picking up and Slade was just at my house. Just find her, Felicity."

"Yes, of course. Right," she initiated the ping on Laurel's phone and swiveled in her chair to look at Sara who was just putting away her weapons. "Sara's here, I think she should know."

"What should I know?" Sara asked looking up.

"Oh, wow, you have great hearing," Felicity felt like a deer caught in headlights.

"Felicity," Oliver barked on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, yes!" she turned just as the computer beeped. There were no results. "I'm sorry. Uhm, her phone must be turned off. Should I try…" she didn't wait for Oliver to growl at her again, "I'll try traffic cameras around her apartment. I'm sure everything is fine. Maybe she's with her parents?"

"What is going on?" Sara loomed over Felicity's shoulder.

Felicity swallowed hard. It wasn't that she was afraid of Oliver or Sara, but it was a bit disconcerting to be surrounded (and having Oliver in her ear, that is at the other end of the phone) by two demanding super-hero, assassin… ish people. "Oliver is worried about Laurel. Her phone is turned off. Could she be with your father? Or mom? I'm sure it's nothing," Felicity certainly hoped so.

"No, mom went back to Central City this morning. I'll call dad," Sara was all business, but the worried crease in her forehead told Felicity that she _was_ rattled.

"Oliver, Sara will…"

"I heard."

"Uhm, ok. Are you coming here or are you…?"

"I'm going to swing by her apartment. Let me know if you find something," and he dropped the call.

It hadn't occurred to him that Slade might want to go after Laurel. Laurel was… _Laurel._ And while Oliver hadn't had a long time to grasp the fact that Slade had returned, that _he_ was behind the latest disasters in Starling city, well… Oliver didn't think that without Thea raising alarm, he would have thought of it for a while yet.

His previous enemies had known to target Laurel, because she worked with the Hood, because she was important to Oliver – they had guessed, and correctly, that he would do anything for her, but Slade… Slade knew him better than any of those, and because of that Oliver wouldn't have imagined him going after Laurel. Slade knew how Laurel was what got Oliver through the island. Slade knew that… She was supposed to be off limits. _Sacred._ Some things just were untouchable. Slade had family in Australia. Oliver had Laurel.

He punched his steering wheel when he had to stop for a red light. "You're going to regret ever having made it off the Lian Yu if one hair falls off of her head," he muttered angrily.

He felt like a barrel of gunpowder waiting to explode. He had told Laurel that he was _done_ running after her, but those were just words. Words said in anger. Oliver was not very good with thinking through situations. He reacted – first and foremost and no amount of physical training or traumatic torture had taught him how to pace himself emotionally. If anything – it all had just exacerbated his tendency for self-sabotage and destruction.

And when Laurel had blamed him… When she had finally said the words that he'd been waiting to hear from her for years. He couldn't take it. He'd known for years that she was too good for him. And he'd waited for years to see – what would be enough? How far could he fall, how much could he disappoint her until she had enough. He'd been spinning on the edge of that blade for years (even from before the island) – how he needed her, and how he felt he'd never be enough for her. His money couldn't buy her love, and he was convinced he had nothing else of substance to offer. How could he possibly please her?

And then – after everything, he had finally heard it from her lips… He was at fault. She finally said it. His heart beat painfully in his chest. His last words to her _wouldn't_ be that he was done with her.

Her apartment was locked, and when he sneaked in by the window – empty. Dinah had cleaned up before leaving, but otherwise it was untouched. And then Felicity called to tell him, that there had been no activity around the apartment since Laurel walked out the night before. And Sara informed him that their father had had no contact with Laurel either.

Oliver felt dizzy as he ordered Felicity to retrace Laurel's steps that night, and left for Verdant.


	5. Clean slate

**Clean slate**

Laurel thought about going home as the elevator sped past all the floors in the building. The idea no longer petrified her as it had the night before. She could mull it over in her mind without feeling revulsion or protest rise as rebellion in her throat. But she also felt no need to rush back there. When she tried to pin the feeling down, the best way she could describe it to herself was that the events of the past day had cut away any strings or chains that had held her where she'd been. She was a planet knocked out of orbit and just now she was deciding whether she wanted to be a planet at all. She could become a comet and speed away in the universe. The possibilities were endless.

For the first time in a long time she thought about what she wanted. And not in the context of basic necessities or duties or pleasing other people. She was learning to break things down into very small and manageable parts. She tried to remember what she used to like, but as she listed things off in her mind – none of them struck a chord. The elevator doors opened – she had walked in with her head held high and now her eyes were staring at the floor again. She couldn't imagine what would make her happy. Wasn't that what had led her to where she'd been last night in the first place? Maybe everything was hopeless.

She took a deep breath as she walked out. _No._ Last night, past year, hell, her whole _past life_ had been about Oliver. Mainly about Oliver. And everybody else – people she didn't know and people who were her family. And she had invested so much in them foolishly hoping that they would invest right back, that somehow they would fix for her whatever it was that she was missing. She'd been a fool. And if something was hopeless, then all _that_ was hopeless, and right now she had already decided to focus on herself. She chided herself that she couldn't give up that easy without even trying. _A little fight. A little fight and a little courage._ She reminded herself that she didn't need to find a magic cure. All she needed was one thing she might like. Just one small thing. _Baby steps._

Starling city was alight with street lights and lights from buildings. The pollution from the light concealed the stars and Laurel realized she wanted to see the stars with a near desperate need. She turned on her phone and booked a midnight viewing at the observatory in a city app that had been sitting in her phone for forever. She vaguely remembered using it once before to buy Opera tickets. She had ended up going with a friend from work, because Oliver couldn't have been bothered. That had been _before_ the Gambit _._

That prompted her into action. She stood on the street in front of the hotel and frantically deleted every app on her phone that she couldn't remember using within last six months. When her fingers were stiff from the cold and the doorman asked for the third time if she wanted him to call for a taxi – she realized that her phone was not the problem. Another thing that she craved was a clean slate. A fresh start. Her breath came out in white puffs as she laughed at the thought.

She also finally noticed the red little receiver at the top info line of the screen. She pulled the notification board down to read three missed calls from Thea, five from Oliver, one from her father and several from unknown number. The responsible side of her felt like she should react immediately. Call them back – find out what they wanted, but the rest of her… Was exhausted at the thought. She felt dangerously fragile.

The last thing Laurel needed right now was bad news from the BAR council or a lecture from her father or a ' _you should really love your sister, Laurel'_ from Oliver. She couldn't even think of those scenarios without wanting to scream with frustration. There was also a notification about 1 unheard message in her voicemail. Her fingers felt too cold to click on it and check the caller – it felt like a slippery slope. If she checked who the message was from – she would listen to it, and then she'd forget about the stars at the observatory tonight and all she'd think about would be how much more peaceful the water under the bridge is.

 _I said I'll try, I said I'll try,_ she muttered without sound as she turned and walked up the street. She hadn't really – said that, that is, but she did now. She promised herself to try, and that meant she had to be cruel to be kind. She switched off her phone and took out her SIM card. She broke it before she could fully process her decision or change her mind. She dumped the phone, it's battery and the card in separate parts in trashcans as she walked past them. _Clean slate. Clean slate._

She almost walked past a little café before deciding to warm up. The smell of fresh baked goods lured her in. She ordered a coffee. A croissant still warm from the oven. And asked for a phone. Of all the unanswered calls - one bothered her the most. The barista let her use the office phone as he prepared her order. The call on the other end was picked up too fast.

"Hello?"

"Thea?"

"Laurel! Thank… Where are you? I've called you! Ollie called you! I left you a message! Where have you been?" Thea rushed it all out in one breath.

"I'm…," Laurel forced a smile at the barista who looked her way, "I lost my phone," she lied.

"Oh…" Thea had been prepared to do a long speech, but that stopped her in her tracks. "Are you okay?"

"What? Yes, I'm fine," Laurel winced. Every sentence out of her mouth was a lie.

"No, wait…," Thea had almost a sixth sense to telling when people were lying to her. "What's going on?"

"Look… I'm… Good. For the moment, I… I really don't want to talk about it," Laurel bit her lip, wincing. She was not ready to tell Thea what had happened. She was not sure she'd ever be. "I need some time, and that's the truth. Please. I just don't want you to worry."

"You say that and you expect me not to worry?!" there was a shuffling noise as if Thea was moving around.

"Just… Tell Oliver not to call me, alright? I can't talk to him right now," this felt like the most awkward conversation of her life. She didn't want to put Thea in the middle between herself and Oliver, but Laurel knew that he wouldn't let things off if she continued to ignore him, and she just couldn't deal with him at the moment. Thea had done nothing to deserve this. And Laurel honestly didn't want to hurt her, but she also needed her space.

"What did Ollie do?" then Thea huffed as if rolling eyes at her own question. "Never mind," with Oliver there was always something. "Where are you?"

"Thea, you don't have to…"

"No, I _have_ to," Thea protested. "You disappear on me for nearly a day and now you're all _'I need some time'_ and you think I won't come to you? You forget I'm the one that partied with kids that used every cliché in the book to dull their pain," she sighed. Her voice went a tone softer and quieter, "I don't know what happened, and I swear I won't tell Oliver anything if you don't want me to, but let me come to you. You were there when I needed you. Let me do the same."

Thea was just eighteen. She was whole ten years younger than Laurel, and she had been through a lot too. She had no idea what had happened, but she wasn't going to let it go. Last time she had seen Laurel spiraling she had called her brother and he had just bounced her back at Thea, asking to call for a taxi and cut off the bar. Thea wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

She had hoped that maybe things between Laurel and her brother had improved, but… To be honest, she couldn't blame Laurel for the fact that they hadn't. Ollie wasn't making it easy. If Thea were to be brutally honest – Oliver wasn't making it easy to be liked in his own family. He ditched important events. He could be intense about the weirdest things or entirely distracted about everything at other times… It just didn't feel like he was back at all sometimes.

And the way Laurel now sounded on the phone… Thea knew that unique sound of loss and despair. It was easy to look at her and see Thea Queen – the spoiled, little, rich girl. But Thea could read people well and pain best of all, because she was intimately familiar with it.

She knew how grief felt, she'd had her lessons when she lost her brother and father. She knew how it felt when the light seemed to go out of everything – when Queen manor became dull and grey and her mother withdrew, and they even stopped celebrating Christmas. She knew how it felt when she could do anything and nobody would care. How money could solve everything but give her back what she needed most. She knew how it felt not to give a damn, or rather, desperately wishing that that would be the case and how willing she had been to do anything, to _use_ anything to achieve that. That's how she had ended up in the car crash. That's when Laurel had pulled her out of potential prison sentence and back into light. That's when she learned to find purpose and fire inside herself. That's how she met Roy.

Thea wasn't just going to stand on the sidelines and watch Laurel drown. "Please," she said. She used to have this friend who didn't live until her nineteenth birthday. The same friend who'd brought her drugs chasing the same high. Thea knew how easy it was to overlook people when they needed help, and how easy it was to lose them barely a moment later. She didn't know what had happened. But she could hear Laurel's voice. She was not… _was not_ going to lose someone else.

Laurel closed her eyes to shut the world out. And told Thea the address of the café.

"I'll be there in fifteen," Thea promised.

"Don't...," Laurel took a breath, it took more effort than it should have. "Don't speed."

"Twenty then."

"I'll be here," Laurel promised.

"You better," Thea reproved, but there was a smile in her tone.

Laurel ended the call and handed the phone back to the barista wondering what she'd done. She hadn't meant to get Thea involved in this… Whatever it was that was happening to her now. She'd just seen Thea's call, and she just hadn't been able to leave that without answer and somehow Thea was now on her way and – what on earth was Laurel going to tell her? She couldn't tell her the truth. What kind of a conversation was that? And she couldn't lie to her face either.

Laurel found a table and sat down almost in a daze. She had resolved to do this… living thing. She had made the decision to do this alone. She had been sure she'd… That she'd try. That she'd make an effort. And through it all she had been utterly convinced of one core thing – that she didn't want people to know. She didn't need their pity or their understanding. She didn't need coddling or sympathies. She had been so sure she needed to figure this out all on her own.

And then there was Thea - a true force of nature. Laurel certainly hadn't counted on Thea being so forceful, or of her sensing that something was wrong and leaping on it like a hound on a blood trail. Absent mindedly she turned the teaspoon in her coffee a couple of times to mix in the sugar. She could only hope that Thea wouldn't arrive with Oliver on her heels. Or, heaven forbid, Sara or her father. Laurel was not ready for all that.

Dreading the upcoming meeting Laurel took a slow sip of her coffee. To tell the truth, she couldn't remember the last time she had the simple time to sit down and have a coffee. It was always takeaway. Always on the run. She hadn't actually _sat down_ in a coffee shop in ages. The realization of the newness of the moment ignited something small and warm in her chest. It felt like something happy. She smiled and took her time taking another sip.

Thea arrived seventeen minutes later. She came alone.


	6. Oliver's very bad, no good day

**Oliver's very bad, no good day**

Felicity could track Laurel only so far. Not every street corner had a camera. Not every corner shop or ATM had a camera she could hack into. She was sure that if she went through the footage with a fine tooth comb she'd find something she'd missed – some reflection in a window or passing car mirror, or a camera that she hadn't noticed, that could probably only be accessed from physical location, but might hold some valuable information. And it wasn't that she wasn't trying – but, quite honestly, within the time constraints and considering the sheer scope of work, it was _impossible._

Felicity Smoak was just one woman. And for the time frame Oliver had given her – there were thousands of hours of footage. Not all search could be automated. Automated search missed a lot – if Laurel didn't face the camera, if her face was at too much of an angle, if only a part of her fit in the camera view as she passed... Not to mention that Felicity had to search for her in the _night_ hour footage. Not all cameras were in well-lit areas. Not all had a resolution worth mentioning and one can extrapolate points to improve a picture only so far. Quite honestly searching for Laurel by using her portrait picture as an input parameter was rather hopeless. Felicity didn't have the heart to tell that to Oliver's face though.

So she ran the search again. And on a separate computer again with a different picture of Laurel she'd pulled off a website. She didn't have nearly enough data for any sort of reasonable training set for her program. Felicity tried to extrapolate a path Laurel may have taken and concentrated on those areas of the city, and, well, she prayed. Because that seemed about as likely to give a positive result.

"Maybe…" she spoke up when she could no longer stand Oliver's' pacing behind her. He stopped immediately. "Maybe we should consider calling hospitals. And…" _morgues._

"No!" it was more of a scream than a protest. Oliver swallowed heavily, trying to reign himself in. "I mean, no. That can't…. If Slade had her, I would know. He would not miss the chance to brag about it to my face," that was the thought that had helped him cling to his sanity for the past hour. It made sense – didn't it? If Slade wanted him to suffer – he'd _let him know._ That is unless this was the suffering Slade had in mind. And Oliver would be forever left wondering… Suffering and hoping. "No, I'm sure that…"

"She would have picked up her phone," Sara interjected. "We both know Laurel. She may be angry, but after such a long time, she would have picked up."

Oliver turned and punched a monitor. It broke nearly in half, sparked as it fell with a loud thump on the floor. Felicity screamed in surprise. Sara just looked grim.

"I can't work if you destroy my equipment!" Felicity snapped, all nerves. "I understand you're worried. I'm worried…"

"How could she do this to us?" Sara muttered under her breath, but the people in the room heard her well enough. Oliver just hung his head low, bracing his hands against a table, all the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Felicity…

"Excuse me?" Felicity's tone was anything but apologetic. It was a tone full of warning. One last chance for someone to revise their thoughts before she _made_ them rethink them. Oliver looked up.

"I'll have to call dad. He'll be devastated… And mom," Sara shrugged. "I mean I understand that she's upset, but to do this?"

" _This?_ " venom leaked into Felicity's voice as she rose from her chair. " _This what?"_ she hissed. "Are you even hearing yourself right now?"

"I'm not…," Sara began to justify herself just as Oliver began warningly, "Felicity…"

"Oh, no," she put her finger up in a chastising gesture that managed to stop Oliver in his tracks. "Oh, no you don't. I mean – you know I like you Sara, I think you're strong and amazing, and Oliver, I'm your girl. For anything. Well, not anything," she shrugged, "but you know what I mean." She put her hands on her hips.

"But you two are seriously messed up," she announced. "I mean, I gathered only bits and pieces of what happened last night, but _that's_ enough. Even without that – I'd know enough."

"What do you mean?" Oliver frowned.

Felicity pressed her lips together tightly, gathering her ammunition. Both of the people in front of her needed some massive reality check. "I understand that you both have been through a lot. And a lot of that - you've been through together. But you have to understand how what you do affects other people too! Especially if you want to have any sort of relationship with those people!" there was some bitterness in her voice. She fancied Oliver just like she understood that he was trouble. Perhaps quite too much trouble. It was hard enough to be his friend. She did not want to imagine herself in Laurel's shoes.

"For all intents and purposes you both _died._ And you died in a manner that exposed how little both of you thought for anyone but yourselves. Most of all – how little you thought of Laurel. And now you're back, and… have any of you even apologized to her? I mean, it can't possibly make up for what you did, but being sorry is always better than just…"

"I apologized. Dozens of times," Oliver remarked. "I know it will never be enough."

"I did too," Sara crossed her hands defensively on her chest. "She threw a wine glass at my head."

"Any of you honestly think you can hold that against her?" Felicity frowned. "You're her _sister._ I mean – do you even care about her? Do _you?_ " she turned to point at Oliver. He looked like he'd been punched. "Because you both may realize in theory how horrible it is what you did, but you don't seem to learn _anything_ from it."

"What do you mean?" Sara was genuinely confused.

"You both left her mourning and betrayed. And now when you're both back – you go right _back_ to what started it all in the first place. It doesn't matter if you're not _with_ Laurel right now. Being with Sara is wrong," she finally said to Oliver what she'd been thinking all along, and then she turned to Sara. "I'm sorry. It's wrong. You're her sister. If you have even the slightest ounce of consideration for her – you ought to feel some guilt. Do you even? I mean, I understand that it feels _alright_ to you to be with him, because you two share so many experiences, but have you thought about how it looks for anyone on the outside looking in?"

"No apology in the world means anything if you take it as a permission to do the same thing over and over again," she insisted.

"But I'm in love…" Sara started and Oliver nearly gave himself a whiplash turning to look at her, he was that startled.

"And she wasn't? Isn't?" Felicity nearly screamed. "She _loved_ you. She _loved_ Oliver and that meant exactly _nothing_ to either of you. And now you have the audacity to be annoyed that she can't just give you both her blessing?! Are you honestly that blind? Or just that selfish?" Felicity took a calming breath, putting her hand on her chest as if that would help calm her racing heart. Her idealization of Oliver seemed to disappear with every second of this conversation. He may not have said much, but his silence was just as telling. She may still think he hung a star or two, but that certainly wasn't worth the thoughtless heartbreak he brought. She felt her heart break for Laurel already. "Maybe you just hate her. Because that would certainly make more sense than…"

" _I Love Her,_ " Oliver growled, enunciating clearly and with such violence that Felicity took an involuntary step back even though he hadn't moved at all. Even Sara seemed startled.

"Well, you haven't showed it at all," Felicity replied harshly and with more bravery than she felt. She raised her chin higher and marched back to her chair. She picked up the phone and started calling hospitals. She certainly didn't need Oliver's permission for that.

Oliver stormed out of the basement and Sara ran after him.

"Typical," Felicity muttered uncharitably as she observed them, before the hospital administration on the other end of the line picked up. "Hi, I wondered if you could help me. I'm looking for a friend. Has anyone by the name of Laurel Lance been admitted in the last 24 hours?"

The answer was negative and Felicity could check one hospital off her list. Tentatively she added morgues to the list too. _I'm so sorry_ , she thought.

 **IKYWT**

"Oliver…" Sara started, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Oliver instinctively pulled away. He'd run out of Verdant. Kicked a trash can or two and… Stayed. He felt caged. He couldn't run off while Laurel was missing. He couldn't just go fight crime if he didn't know whether he wouldn't be needed somewhere else five minutes later. He was stuck in limbo. He had to find Laurel for things to make sense again. He kicked an already toppled trash can. His mind was a complete storm.

"Oliver, it's ok," Sara clasped her hands together to keep from reaching out to him again. "She just doesn't know what she's talking about."

"What?" Oliver finally looked at Sara. Roaring in his ears dimmed a bit and he actually tried to listen.

"Felicity," Sara explained. "She just doesn't know what we know. She's like Laurel. They're normal. They don't know us. They don't know how it is for us."

"And what exactly _is_ us?" Oliver hissed, rounding towards Sara like a predator stalking a prey. He was high strung and losing control. He felt like lashing out. "What the island made us? What the League of Assassins made you and Fyers, and the rest made me?" he demanded.

"Yes," Sara replied without flinching.

"It made us killers, but we were _worthless_ before that," he spat, uncharacteristically truthful. Rage in his eyes. Felicity's words had torn open everything that losing Laurel had left raw and vulnerable. He couldn't even think of the combination of words _losing Laurel_ without choking. He coughed, but the knot in his chest didn't loosen.

"You don't believe that," Sara couldn't conceal the light tremble in her voice no matter how hard she tried.

Oliver laughed. It was not a happy laugh. It was self-deprecating, dark and humorless laugh. "Oh, but I do," he said, much softer than Sara had expected. "I never deserved your sister. Before or after the island."

"That is not true," Sara protested. "You're a hero, Oliver. She may not see it. But I know it."

Oliver just shook his head and stalked down the alley, restless like a caged tiger. He wanted to attack – anything, anyone. He was like brimming with violence born of sheer helplessness and… fear.

"You saved me, Ollie," Sara tried again. It was the one thing she kept clinging to. Oliver chose her. Not on the Gambit when he took her away. He chose her _to live_ on the island. He saved her.

Oliver laughed, he felt like crying exactly that much. "I've said it again and again… I…"

"Yes, to Slade, of course," Sara agreed instantly. "But you saved me. I will never forget it, Ollie."

Oliver turned on his heel and punched a wall so hard his knuckles started to bleed, and the bones in his hand throbbed with pain. Laurel was missing and her sister was confessing her love to him, because she believed he had saved her. Because she believed that he had chosen her above another's life. That he had chosen her before Laurel. _Oh, god._ It was such a tangled mess. It sunk in bitterly that Felicity was absolutely right. Oliver pressed his lips together to hold back a barrage of cruel words, but he knew that he would speak his mind nonetheless. He could only delay it.

The last thing he wanted was to destroy Sara. He knew how fragile she was. How she'd been willing to die rather than go back to the League. He knew that she loved him, and it had been _so easy_ to just fall back in with her. Sara wasn't Laurel, but she was close enough. Sara wasn't perfect. Not like Laurel. Sara was more like him. He might not deserve Sara's sister, but Sara was just _enough._ But Felicity had been right. He couldn't continue making the same mistakes with the same excuses. Laurel was missing. And that changed everything. He might not deserve Laurel, but he'd turn the sky inside out and bring down whole mountains to keep her safe and close by.

"I didn't save you, Sara," each word was pointed like an arrow, and he knew that once he got to the end of his speech – they'd hurt like the real thing. "I didn't _choose_ you," he insisted. "The simple truth is that I _hesitated,_ because I couldn't let you die even if I couldn't make the choice." He saw the light burn brighter in her eyes. " _Because of Laurel_ ," and he saw it dim. "I took you away from her. I had to bring you back no matter what," the light was nearly gone and Oliver felt for her. He did, but he couldn't stop. Not now. "There was no way she would ever love me again if I let you die. That is why I hesitated," and he saw the light in Sara's eyes go out. He stood ready – if she wanted to lash out, he deserved it. He could take it.

"For Laurel?" Sara forced the words out. Barely audible. Her bottom lip trembled.

Oliver swallowed heavily. What was it that people always said about him and Laurel? "Always and forever."


	7. Chile

**Chile**

"Oh, please, tell me you have something," Felicity pleaded in her headset microphone.

"Sorry, A.R.G.U.S. has nothing. Lyla said she'll put some feelers out, but for now they're in the dark," Diggle replied. "You really haven't found anything?"

"No," Felicity sighed. "It's ridiculous how easy it is to find criminals and when you actually need to find someone to help them, it's… impossible. That is, I hope that Laurel doesn't actually need help," she stuttered a little. "Maybe she's fine. Somewhere. For the past day. Nearly 24 hours. She must be alright. God, I hope so."

There was a moment of silence on the other end as Diggle got into his car, "How's Oliver?"

"You know Oliver," Felicity muttered under her breath, she was still annoyed with him.

"What?" Diggle hadn't heard what she said.

"I mean, he's… Not good. He's pacing and killing my equipment, and after I gave him a piece of my mind he ran off. But Sara went with him. So… You know," she trailed off. She certainly hoped that they hadn't gone off for an adult edition of stress relief activity. Not that it was any of her business, but it would certainly be in very poor taste. She winced at the thought. To be honest, it was hard to connect the Oliver she knew – the Arrow who fought criminals, who saved people… who was _a hero_ with Oliver who seemed to fall in with every vaguely skirt-dressed pothole along the way.

"Ugh," she winced at the mental image. She firmly repeated that it was none of her business. If only she hadn't half-way given her heart away to him already… It was hard to see how little such things seemed to mean to him – all intense in the moment, and then off with... Sara or Helena, or whoever. It was an impossible competition. And then there was Laurel. Felicity took a determined breath and promised to reward herself with a couture dress if she managed to _not_ think about Oliver _that way_ for a whole month.

"I'll be there in half-hour," Diggle said and Felicity nearly jumped out of her skin. She had forgotten that he was still on the line.

"Roger that," she promptly responded, her back straight as a ruler. "That is, copy that. Uh, I heard you. You know what I mean."

"See you in half-hour, Felicity."

"Bye!" she said with more cheerfulness and energy than she felt. And then she made sure that the call really disconnected before sagging back down in her chair.

IKYWT

Laurel tried not to stare at Thea. Because Thea was definitely staring at her. She desperately wanted to be busy with something, but even as she stared at the half of a croissant left on her plate and the few sips of coffee left in the cup – she knew she couldn't swallow any of it. Truth be told, she couldn't bring herself to open her mouth at all. It was as if her lips were sewn together.

 _See, I'm fine?_ It was just three words. It should be easy to say them. But Laurel couldn't even look Thea straight in the eyes. It shouldn't be awkward, but it was. The air was heavy between them with tension and expectation, and Laurel didn't know how to break it. _This_ was why she hadn't wanted to see anyone. To talk to anyone. How was she supposed to… pretend?

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry, beat her chest and tear her own hair out until everyone understood how much everything hurt. But at the same time she didn't want anyone's pity or advice or _ignorance._ She couldn't deal with herself much less with others. So there she was. Stuck between wanting to tell everything and pretending that nothing was wrong.

She realized that she had been right the previous night – everything did seem different now. At least it was getting darker outside by the minute. Night came quickly in fall. For some reason Laurel was sure that it was written on her face – what she thought, what she did, what happened – and darkness seemed to provide at least some cover for that.

"What happened?" Thea finally asked. Gently. As sudden as her words seemed after a prolonged silence, they were quiet and soft.

"I don't want to talk about it," Laurel finally looked at her. It was the truth. Just like the fact that on the inside she was screaming. It was a strange feeling – more dissociative than hysterical. She felt like she was in three places at once – the calm Laurel that sat in her seat and plainly stated her wishes. The broken one – crying, screaming on the inside, all loud and wet with tears that she hadn't cried yet at all. And Laurel that she didn't know yet, that observed the situation and the strange interplay between the two warring sides of herself. She couldn't decide which one she was.

"Ok," after a moment Thea empathetically agreed, "Are _you_ OK?"

"I'm fine," it was her back up answer for everything. She swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat. She knew she couldn't go back to saying that same thing over and over again, knowing that it was always a lie. It didn't matter if people asking her the question cared about her answer. It was about _her._ It was time for her to care. Laurel clutched her tea cup harder. She had no words. Not the right ones.

"Hey, hey," Thea reached across table and her hands were warm when they enveloped Laurel's trembling fingers. "It's going to be OK. I promise," she assured in an earnest, heartfelt way that made Laurel believe her at least a little.

"I need to go away," she finally managed to force out. She wasn't sure where the words came from, but she recognized them as true. She couldn't go to same old places, meet same old people and deal with the same old issues. She would end up on the same damn bridge. She realized she knew it in her bones.

Thea was endlessly patient. She wasn't usually, not by nature. And she also wasn't very tolerant of lies and Laurel had fumbled her way through a few during their short conversation, but Thea was also smart, and her heart was in the right place. Had always been. She saw through the image that Laurel tried to project to the core. She might not know the details – but she knew something wasn't right. Just like she'd known to worry when Laurel didn't pick up her phone.

Thing is – nobody told Thea anything. Ever. She had no idea about the secrets her father had put on her brother's shoulders. She had no idea what a tangled web her parentage actually was. She even had no idea that Oliver had went to Lance family dinner last night. Or that he was back together with Sara. _He_ certainly hadn't told her. She just knew that Laurel was supposed to be mending her relationship with her family and then everything had fallen apart. And that second part was intuitive guesswork. But if anyone knew how hard it sometimes was to forgive your own family – it was Thea. So she was endlessly patient even when that really wasn't a strength of hers. "I understand," she definitely knew how it felt to want to run away and never look back. "Do you have an idea where?"

Laurel froze. "No," she admitted.

"Ok, then," Thea patted her hands, all warmed up and let go. A problem meant that it needed a solution. Solution required a plan and Thea – the one who had pulled herself together with Laurel's help and learned to run a nightclub while her brother partied across Europe, as far as she knew, anyhow – _that_ Thea certainly could come up with a plan, and a solution, and help her friend. "Don't worry about any of it. I'll make the arrangements."

"No, Thea, I couldn't…" Laurel protested. "You couldn't. You have the Verdant to take care of…" after feeling like everyone on the planet had abandoned her or chosen the better version – her sister -, it was staggering to hear Thea now. Laurel felt like she was a burden requiring extraordinary effort and dedication that she wasn't worthy of.

"Don't be stupid," Thea frowned. Her patience frayed. But she softened barely a moment later, "Listen. I _care_ about you. You're my friend. Now stop being stupid – I'm not letting you disappear on me. If away is what you want – I say _vacation,"_ she insisted. "I'm my own boss. I can certainly afford it. And I won't take no for an answer."

It was too much. Too soon. Laurel didn't know how to deal with it. Thea was offering like it was just any old, girlfriend, spa weekend, but Laurel…She didn't know _fun_ anymore. She wasn't sure _what_ she knew and she hadn't had nearly enough time to figure it out. And yet Thea was here – forceful and gentle at the same time, prodding, but accepting at least some boundaries. Laurel desperately hadn't wanted to be saved. But Thea was pulling her ashore even kicking and screaming. She felt that moment again – where she knew that neither her calm façade side nor the raw, voiceless one wanted help. And yet as if from a third point of view, from the corner of the room, she realized that maybe it wasn't about what she wanted, but what she needed.

"Ok," she agreed, her voice nearly failing her on that.

"Great," Thea beamed, choosing not to highlight how dead Laurel's tone sounded. "When do you want to go?"

"Soon," Laurel managed.

"Not a problem," Thea would not be dissuaded from her chosen course. She may not know what was wrong, but she certainly felt like she had won a battle. She grinned with the energy of a sun filled battery and ordered a cheesecake. "I'm thinking Chile," she said with the first bite.

Laurel was still nursing her, already cold, cup of coffee. Her croissant, sad and forgotten on the place. "What?"

"Chile," Thea reinforced the idea. She had thought of it off the top of her head. It wasn't easy to try and quickly pick a location that would have no associations with Oliver. She knew very well that her brother had taken Laurel all around on trips. She also knew that most of the time it happened because Oliver had done something stupid, ended up in the papers and their parents had requested he make himself scarce until they made the mess go away.

"Chile," Thea repeated and pulled out her phone to do a quick search on top attractions there. "It's the land of extremes," she quoted. "It'll be great. Promise."

Laurel wanted to say that it was too generous. Too much time. Too much energy to invest. She had gotten so used to being on the periphery – it was startling to be at the focus of someone's attention. She felt obligated to try and talk Thea out of it, but as she opened her mouth… She slammed her lips shut. Selfishly she let Thea carry on. Laurel had no words for what she had experienced and felt now, but Thea didn't seem to need them. Thea heard her anyway.


	8. Unlikely cupid

**Unlikely cupid**

Sara returned to the basement alone. Frustration was in her every movement. Oliver had refused to yield to her attempts at comforting and she could hardly bear to stand there and listen to him idealize her sister. She wanted to be angry, because then Oliver's words would hurt less. She hated being reminded that she always came in second. The second daughter, second to Laurel in school, second to her in love, second to her everywhere. There was nothing that Sara could do that Laurel hadn't already done better.

She didn't _hate_ her sister, but Sara was certainly envious of her. Laurel's life had always seemed perfect to her right down to the perfect, devoted, rich boyfriend. That's how Sara had gotten on that ship – she had wanted a slice of what Laurel had. And she'd ended up with hell as her just deserts. Life really wasn't all that fair to her as far as she saw it.

And now Laurel was missing. Except Sara didn't really believe that. Laurel was the type of person to whom nothing bad ever really happened. To Sara it seemed that her sister was completely blind to the dark underbelly of the world, and she envied that too. She wanted to be that pure and innocent again too. She wanted to have problems that weren't really problems. Therefore, Sara wasn't very worried – not like Oliver or even Felicity. She had this blind spot where it came to her sister – she genuinely believed that even if some ordinary emergency had happened to Laurel, no doubt, there had been a knight in shining armor to pull her out of it. Laurel always seemed to get the kind, funny gentlemen to fight for her – Oliver, Tommy Merlyn, and the list could go on. It was Sara who got the creeps.

She believed right down to her bones that she'd know if her sister was truly in danger. Sara didn't doubt that she'd nobly lay down her life for her helpless sister. But right now – she also believed that Laurel was just kicking up a fuss, because she couldn't give up an old boyfriend and just let Sara be happy. Hadn't Sara paid for her sins already? She's been through literal and figurative hell. She'd sold her soul long ago. There was no life in the light for her anymore – couldn't she get at least the bits that were in the shadows? Like Oliver…

It annoyed Sara how everyone was thinking about Laurel and nobody was thinking about her. It seemed like the story of her life. She yanked her jacket violently off the back of a chair and turned to leave – she definitely didn't want to speak to Felicity again.

But Felicity had no such reservations, "What will you tell your father?" she asked, turning in her chair, like an empress on a throne, legs crossed, arms rested.

"Nothing yet," Sara muttered nearly inaudibly.

Felicity frowned. "But he's the police," she explained slowly, as if to a child. "Even aside the fact that she's his daughter – he could help us find her."

"I'm not breaking his heart just because Laurel has a temper tantrum," Sara snapped finally out of patience.

Felicity was not intimidated. "An entire department looking for her would find Laurel faster than just me looking. Maybe you can ask her what kind of… _tantrum,_ " Felicity's distaste was obvious in her tone, "she has then. Don't you think?"

"I'm sure she's fine," Sara replied through gritted teeth, "Saint Laurel always is," she muttered under her breath ungraciously and left.

"Wow," Felicity intoned in the emptiness of the basement when the door that lead to the bar slammed shut behind Sara. "Just wow," she breathed. "And I thought Oliver had issues."

 **IKYWT**

Oliver couldn't bring himself to leave the alley. He wanted to sprint out of it, find the first criminal he could and pound them into the ground with his bare fists. Hell, he wanted to rid the entire city of crime so that the worst reason why Laurel would ever be unreachable would be being stuck in traffic. And yet he couldn't move an inch. The thought that he would be too far away to act if Felicity finally found Laurel and she needed him was paralyzing.

"Hey, Oliver," Diggle came in Oliver's view slowly, as if approaching a wild thing.

Oliver glanced at his friend and bodyguard – and then resolved to ignore him – turning back to staring at the wall of the opposite building. There was just too much turmoil inside – Oliver had no words for that. "I just wish I knew she was okay," words flew out before he could imagine saying them. He flinched – the admission felt like a slap.

"I know," Diggle said quietly, understandingly, leaning against the trash container on which Oliver was sitting.

"No," Oliver breathed, jumping down from the container. "No, no, you don't…", Laurel was supposed to be okay. How could he possibly explain it? She was his home. Not the Queen mansion. Not the Starling goddamn city. Laurel.

She was the thing, the beacon, that got him through everything on Lian Yu. She was… How could he adequately put it into words that she was the moral compass, the ideal that he was guided by? He was more influenced by a throwaway comment from her than from anything else. To him she could make no wrong decision, no misstep, and he aspired to be able to follow her judgement. How could he sufficiently describe the pedestal of everything that was good that he had built for her in his mind. To him she was the sun that every star in the galaxy orbited.

"Oliver, I know how much you love her," Diggle said when it became obvious that Oliver wouldn't speak more. "I've seen it again and again," and he hadn't particularly liked it either. But a fact was exactly that – a fact, and Oliver Queen, in hood or out of it, would always choose Laurel. Diggle weighed his next words carefully. He did believe that Laurel was a distraction for Oliver, just like he saw how she was a part of Oliver that he would never let go. And out of everything – John understood best how it ached to long for someone that was out of reach. And he made a decision he might have not made otherwise, "But she doesn't."

Oliver looked at Diggle in surprise.

John swallowed, feeling a bit trapped. He had hoped that Oliver would find peace within his mission or with someone of their own small circle – it would have been better for him and for Laurel too. Diggle was not a fan of dragging civilians where they didn't belong and Laurel was the epitome of civilian. All the things she had already been through… But as he saw now – it didn't matter whether Oliver was _with_ Laurel. He'd always be with her. He'd always be rocked to the core by whatever that was going on with her. And Diggle also believed in covering the vulnerable spots. And Laurel made all of Oliver one huge soft spot.

"She doesn't, Oliver. I've seen the choices you make for her, in her name…," he listed all the times Oliver chose Laurel above his team, above the mission, all the times he risked his life for her comfort: when he went against Triad for her just when he had gotten back the first time, when he went and trapped himself into a rioting prison to keep her safe, when he started saving people not just hunting them, when he went up against Cyrus Vanch solely for her and nearly got shot for his efforts, when he chose to help her instead of capturing Floyd Lawton for Diggle. "And I'm not even talking about giving up her for your best friend, because you thought that would make her happy. All the times you tried to keep her safe by staying away even though it had to be like shooting yourself in the foot. Hell, I'm not even halfway through with everything…"

"What's your point?" Oliver asked tiredly.

"She doesn't know that any of that was you. She has no idea how much you care about her, because you haven't let her know," there was light exasperation in Diggle's voice. "To the best of her knowledge – you've been partying around, sporadically ignoring her and now… Hooking back up with her sister."

Oliver could hardly get any words out, his throat felt so constricted. "She hates me. I understand."

Diggle sighed and wished he could facepalm. "The point is – you should let her know. You should show her as you've shown everyone. Hell, half the city's criminals know how important she is to you more than she does."

"I was trying to protect her," Oliver protested.

"Well, maybe your protection is what's hurting her."

Oliver turned away. He wanted to punch a wall again. His whole body was tense as the string on which he drew his arrows. There was no right way. There was no happy ending. He loved Laurel. He could not have her.

"Look, you have to figure out whether you want to be in her life, and when we find her," Diggle felt his heart clench in sympathy when he saw Oliver's shoulders shake at the reminder that Laurel was, in fact, still missing, " _when,_ " he stressed, "when we find her, you have to show her what you've shown everyone else. It doesn't matter if _I_ know you love her, if Felicity, Sara or whichever scumbag happens to cross her path finds out how important she is. _She_ has to know."

John took a breath, steeling himself for what else he had to say, "And you have to get it through your thick head that you and the Hood or the Arrow – are not two different things. You can't put Laurel first and still fall for every damsel that happens across your path when wearing a hood. Stop trying to compensate for not having her and try to earn the real thing."

Oliver turned to face his friend. "I don't deserve her." It was the plain, god's honest truth. Even if he wasn't a killer and a monster, he still had cheated on her, he still had torn up her family. He… There was no end to his sins.

Diggle had no more sympathy for the pity party Oliver was throwing himself. "You're not even trying."

"How can you say that?" Oliver demanded. "I've done _nothing_ but try."

John looked at him like he was the most blockheaded person on the planet. Which was likely. "You'll do anything for her except let her have the right to decide for herself whether she loves you or not. You sabotage everything along the way out of fear that if she ever gets to making that decision – she just might realize what you've been trying to prove to her all along. That you really are just a worthless loser," Diggle stepped up and grabbed Oliver by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Which you are not. She sees that despite all the shit you put her through."

Oliver opened and closed his mouth several times. Speechless.

"Look. We'll find your girl. And then you'll get to show her you're the great guy she's always seen you as. You'll stop pretending you're a douchebag, because you're not. Are we clear?"

Oliver nodded.

"Good. Now I'm all done with this relationship advice," he patted Oliver on the shoulder and went inside. As he went, he thought that he never would have imagined being Laurel's advocate. He'd have thought to speak on Felicity's behalf if the push ever came to shove. Funny how life works out. "He'll be in soon," he said to Felicity as he descended the stairs.


	9. Stand your ground

**Stand your ground**

Felicity almost didn't hear it when the program beeped and a notification jumped out on the desktop. For a moment she assumed that it was just another end-of-search no-results information window and continued to concentrate on adjusting the path finding algorithm to guess Laurel's movements for better chance of actually finding her. She listened to three messages from hospitals calling back to tell her that they had not admitted anyone under the name of Laurel Lance or any Jane Doe's fitting Laurel's description.

Then she turned to the desktop that had given the notification and… Jumped with a triumphant squeal. That was Laurel's face. Her heart switched gears, beating a mile a minute with excitement. She couldn't believe that she had actually found Laurel. _Well…_ Judging from the time stamp that was just at 2 AM the previous night, but still. She had a new starting point. Previously – following Laurel from her apartment, Felicity had lost her at about 10:30 rounding into a street that had no surveillance.

Then she noticed expression on Laurel's face. And her excitement dispersed. "Was a tough night for you, wasn't it?" Felicity muttered as her fingers flew over the keyboard, uniting the algorithm, with the starting point she now had, and quickly finding where Laurel went – catching her either on one street corner or another, the tails of her coat as she turned somewhere else - until she walked out of another street footage (just a silhouette that Felicity _knew_ had to be her).

Map showed that there was only one place that street lead into – a bridge. Unless Laurel took to underground, because there was a metro station there too. The bridge had a live feed CCTV that was publicly accessible so that the city's residents could check traffic conditions, but Felicity wasn't interested in the live feed. She pulled up the database records (they were a part of the city's CCTV database, and she had already hacked that earlier) and did a search for early morning hours.

Her hands froze over the keyboard as still images started playing a slideshow on her screen. The bridge camera took an image every three seconds instead of a continuous stream to save space, but… It was enough.

Felicity sat frozen and pinned to her chair as she saw a pixelated silhouette walk along the bridge sidewalk. _Stop._ Stand, facing the railing. _Stand._ She felt her heart hit her thorax painfully with every image. _Stand. Stand. Stand._ A thousand images of Laurel not moving at all. _Disappear._ Felicity nearly screamed, she was so tense. Until she noticed that Laurel hadn't disappeared. The picture quality was just so bad that it was nearly indistinguishable whether she was on the other side of the railing – melting together with the background of the night and dark water or… Gone. "Please, please, please, no…"

It was horrifying. How could it not be? She was watching someone at the end of their rope, ready to end it all, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do to reach out and help, because she was over twelve hours late. "Please, please, please, don't…" She begged as she searched through the images to find the outcome. Her hands felt stiff and cold with horror. She could barely hold the mouse.

And then she saw it. Two figures on sidewalk. A car stopped in the middle of the bridge. She didn't breathe out until she saw both figures step in the car. "Thank…" before she even finished that thought, another came to her. Laurel had gotten into a car with, likely, a complete stranger, in the middle of the night after… after… Felicity swallowed heavily, her throat hurting.

She tried to enhance the image well enough to get a look at the plate number, but the camera at the bridge really didn't have enough depth. She tried to follow it through the streets, but within three minutes she lost it. She lost Laurel. "Oh, god," she felt her hand tremble as she pressed it against her mouth to silence herself.

She needed a moment. How was she… How was she supposed to tell this to Oliver? To Sara? To detective Lance? Like a subroutine her mind kept repeating her that it had been more than twelve hours since that moment and nobody had heard from Laurel. _What if she tried again?_ What if that other time there was nobody there to stop her? What if the person who picked her up from that bridge wasn't a good person?

Her stomach was upset, roiling with the implications, with the dilemma. She may not have known Laurel personally, but she knew her through other people. She knew Laurel through her work and accomplishments. Felicity did feel a little like a peeping-tom, but it was impossible not to know Laurel when she knew Oliver. And during the last few hours when she had tried to dig up every piece of information about the attorney hoping that something, anything of it, would help to find her - Felicity felt like they had become friends, even though Laurel was likely barely aware of her existence.

And now she had been witness to her suicide attempt. What was she supposed to do now?

She hastily wiped the tears, she hadn't noticed spilling, when she heard the door opening. And then Diggle announced what felt like a death sentence of entirely different kind. _Oliver would be in soon._

IKYWT

Oliver had never doubted his love for Laurel. Just as he had never doubted that he didn't deserve hers.

At first – his grades weren't good enough, he didn't pay enough attention in school. He couldn't be bothered to participate in school clubs and activities while she did it all, along with volunteering to help teach disadvantaged children at a district school. While she taught kids math and history, giving her time and energy, he just opened his wallet and paid for a new computer class out of his own allowance. And even that money his father, impressed by the gesture, gave him back, making the entire thing void and null in Oliver's eyes. Laurel had been happy anyway, and Oliver learned the taste of how he didn't deserve her gratitude.

Then college. Laurel got in one of the top colleges in the country on her own merits (though he had been prepared to make a donation as large as necessary just so she got what she wanted), and he… Well, he also got in, but he always suspected that it had something to do with who he was. Anyway, it didn't keep. Even his name and money was not enough to cover for all his misdeeds. He was just so… bored there. Laurel was a star student – the favorite of staff and students, she was in her element, but he… He never had a love for academia.

And so he bounced around while she studied – always on the straight and narrow, that was his Laurel. And he? He was like a broken compass, the only true thing about him, that the arrow always pointed at her.

But did Laurel know that? Lord knows, he'd done everything under the sun to get her to think otherwise. He'd half expected her to drop his ass since the day they got together. He'd had his eye on her for years so when he cracked that stupid joke about going on a date, and she agreed… It had felt like heaven. And barely a day later he had cheated on her for the first time – afraid of loving someone so damn much. Afraid that the happiness was real. The guilt made him throw up for two days straight and Laurel came to Queen manor and nursed him, thinking he had a stomach bug.

He didn't deserve her. It was cemented in his mind. Reinforced with every other action that he took as if he was deadly afraid of being worthy. But Diggle was right… Felicity was right… What Oliver was painfully realizing now was something he had never thought of before. He may be afraid of making her believe he was worthy and then letting her down – but far more horrible was the thought of losing her. A world without Laurel was not something he was capable or willing to imagine.

Sure, she'd been in danger before, but never, never ever before he had felt so helpless in the face of it. So uncertain. He had no idea where she was. He had no idea who she was with. If she was okay. And the last words he said to her were breaking his heart over and over again. It was his fault. It was all his fault. It was always all his fault.

Oliver tried to curb the rage within that urged him to lash out at every inanimate object in vicinity. He'd show her he loved her. He made it a vow and resolved to keep it. He had no idea yet how – he kept a million secrets from her, and how should he go on conquering her love again, when she had no idea how undeserving he was? And not just because of what he did as the Arrow, not even because of her sister and the Gambit, but all the other times _before_ when he cut her out of the loop of his life. How does he tell her that he loved her infinitely yet had cheated on her nearly a dozen times, not counting the disaster with her sister? Without even touching the darkness that was his life as Arrow? How could he go around showing her what she meant to him without him dragging her down in the mud with him?

It was a vicious circle where he always returned to the conclusion that she was better off without him. And yet he couldn't live without her in his life. So he always tried to pull her back in some way, anyway. And that's how he ended up with moments like this. Oliver gave in to his frustration and kicked the trash container. Once. Twice. Until it was dented and he noticed that his phone was ringing.

"Thea," he tried to control his voice.

"Ollie, hi," it sounded like she had her hand in front of the receiver.

"Why are you whispering?" he frowned. His mind automatically jumped to worst possible conclusion. If on top of everything his little sister was in danger, he'd kill the bastards who endangered her, and he wouldn't even lose sleep over it.

"I…" there was some clanging, as if doors opening and closing. "I ducked out to bathroom. I just wanted to let you know that Laurel's okay, I …"

"Laurel?" he interrupted her. "You're with Laurel? Where are you? How is she? Is everything ok?"

"Jeez," Thea laughed. "Calm down, Ollie," she took a deep breath that was calming for her, and unnerving for Oliver. "It's alright. I think. I'm with her now, so it's all going to be okay. I just wanted to let you know."

"Where are you?" the demand was unmistakable in his voice.

"Look, I also kinda wanted to let you know that I might be going away for a few days. With Laurel," Thea ignored his tone with all the charm and grace of a little sister.

"What's going on, Thea? Are you both ok?" concern was rounding the vowels in all his words.

"I'm ok. We're all fine. Physically," she winced. "Look, she needs some time off. And I'm going with her."

"We'll talk about this at home…"

"No, Ollie," this time Thea interrupted him. "I'm not going home. After observatory, I'm going straight to Laurel's and we're leaving tomorrow."

"Then I'm coming to you," he was an immovable force.

"No," Thea hissed. "Look, don't press this. You have your secrets – have some respect when other people need some space too."

"Speedy…" he warned.

"No, Ollie," Thea could be immovable as well. "Leave this be. We're ok. See you in a few days," she dropped the call.

Oliver's mouth was a thin line as he watched the signal beep into non-existence on his phone. Something _had_ happened, he was sure of it. And his sister didn't want him to know about it. Too bad. He was not going to ignore something that affected both his sister and Laurel. Thea had mentioned something about observatory – that was probably where they both were at the moment. He snapped his phone shut and went to give Felicity and Diggle the good news – they'd have to inform Sara while he was off to see what was going on with his little sister and errant love.


	10. Hearts don't break evenly

**Hearts don't break evenly**

"I found Laurel," Oliver announced walking in quickly, and shaking his phone between his fingers as emphasis.

"What?" Felicity jumped from her seat. "I mean; you did?" she wiped her eyes for the tenth time. She hadn't yet said anything to Diggle – he had asked if something was wrong, and she had just run out of words. "Is she ok?"

"She's fine," Oliver frowned at Felicity, but his attention was fleeting as he turned to Diggle. "Thea says she's fine."

Coincidentally the first instinct for both Oliver and Felicity was to protect what they knew. Felicity couldn't just blurt out what she knew - first it was the surprise that Laurel had been found, but as seconds trickled by, Felicity felt intense need to protect Laurel from Oliver. And Oliver omitted the fact that his sister's words made him doubt how well Laurel truly was, because his first desire also was to protect Laurel and her privacy, and Diggle's words were still echoing in his ears _– everyone but Laurel_ knew who she was to him. Well, no more.

"Alright, I'll call Lyla and call off the cavalry," Diggle said, pulling out his phone.

"Could you tell Sara too?" Oliver asked.

And Felicity released the back of the chair that she had been holding on so hard, that her fingers were cramping up. She straightened as if she'd been hit with electricity. "Why can't you tell Sara?" she asked in an odd, cold voice.

"I'm going to Laurel's," Oliver replied, quickly, easily, as if there was never any doubt about that. His whole posture was different than before – he was relaxed, easy. Laurel was found – whatever else was wrong, he was sure he could fix it now.

"You can't," Felicity objected, her words were lightning quick, her tone unyielding.

"What do you mean… _I can't?"_ Oliver nearly laughed, more amused than worried. Diggle, though, paused.

"Did… Do you…" Felicity grasped for something to say. "Did Thea ask you to come? Did Laurel?"

"No, but…" Oliver blurted out.

"Then why would you go? Why do you have to intrude if you're not asked?" she demanded viciously. Knowing what she knew, Felicity was cold with fear that if Oliver went to Laurel's – then he'd be _Oliver._ An attractive bull in a china shop. She was afraid that he would push Laurel over the edge again. More than that she was terrified that that would happen whether she told him what she knew or not. It was not _possible_ to reason with Oliver at times. He was a force of nature, and she used to love him for it. But now it terrified her. "Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?!"

"Felicity!" Oliver protested, eyes wide – her words actually hurt.

"What is going on, Felicity?" John was much calmer. He had seen Felicity crying as he walked in, he suspected that behind her outburst was something she wasn't telling them.

" _What's going on?_ " her voice went several tones higher and sharper. "Nothing! It's as usual – Oliver being his selfish self. For goodness' sake, do you even think a little before you do anything?" she felt tears spilling, she was high-strung like a violin string pulled too tight. "Laurel disappeared and it wasn't me, it wasn't you, it was your sister who found her, and you want…"

"I have to check that she's alright," Oliver replied.

"Didn't Thea already tell you that? Was she as thoughtless as to just give you three words and leave you hanging? _I have Laurel,_ that was it? That was your whole conversation? Or did she tell you that she has her, that it's alright and that you should stay away?" she was ranting, she knew, but by everything that was good in the world, she could not stop herself anymore. She knew what she would have told Oliver if she'd been the one to find Laurel. It definitely wouldn't have been – _come here, see if you can do more damage._ She could guess what Thea had said.

"Felicity…"

"Don't – Felicity – me," she snapped. "Wasn't that awful dinner enough? Now that Laurel's back you have to go and darken her doorstep again? You just _have_ to go, because YOU have to make sure she's okay, for YOU. Can't you think about her for a moment? Just a single moment? Just let her breathe for a while," _let her remember she's strong._ "Can't you just find Sara and leave Laurel alone?"

She was cold. And trembling. She knew what happened to people pushed too far. Cooper's face flashed before her eyes. She suddenly realized that it wasn't just sympathy – Laurel's torment hit in a very particular spot for her. Paralyzing dread overtook her as she relived in flashes how they told her that her boyfriend had hung himself in prison for the piece of code that _she_ had written.

"Don't be ridiculous," Oliver snapped back at her "You both told me – I should…"

With what felt like effort far beyond human capacity, Felicity gathered herself enough to walk, to talk. "If you care for her, you'll let her have peace."

Oliver shook his head, he was done with people telling him what to do, how to love. None of them had any idea how all-encompassing his passion for Laurel was. How it would never go away. How it was always at the center of his being – guiding him, lifting him up when he fell down. How even when he was utterly convinced that she wasn't for him – Laurel still was his home, his light. She was his happy ending whether he got to live it, or just imagine it.

"I wish with all my heart, that you'll never be in my shoes," she couldn't say it without anger. She had tried to save Cooper and Oliver… He'd probably try to save Laurel too. And every heartbeat following that hurt with realization that it would mean that both of them had pushed the people they loved to their destruction. Felicity had never before thought of herself as similar to Oliver. She left.

"What's with her?" Oliver turned to Diggle, utterly bewildered.

"I don't know," John replied, though close to that sentence was the thought that he would find out. "Look, go to your girl. I have that call to Lyla to make, and I'll deal with Sara too."

"Yeah," Oliver glanced back in the direction Felicity had left, a bit stupefied, but the past few hours had exhausted him. He just needed to see that Laurel was alright, and whatever was wrong with Felicity – he figured he'll find out later. "Thanks," he clapped Diggle on the shoulder and left too. A wide smile, that he couldn't quite contain, on his face.

"Yeah, don't mention it," John couldn't quite look at Oliver – in a space of a few minutes, with a single call, Oliver's whole demeanor had changed. It was terrifying how much power Laurel's very name obviously held over him. He wondered whether he'll come to regret encouraging Oliver to act on his feelings.

IKYWT

Oliver watched, hidden and in secret, as Laurel gently ejected Thea from her apartment.

"You can't stay, Thea," Laurel spoke softly, gently.

"Laurel!" Thea objected – with her signature energy underscoring every letter in the word. Her body nearly jumping in protest.

"I'm fine, I'm good, I'm home," Laurel exhaled the words. "And I'll be here tomorrow," and that was a promise. Her lips were pulled in a soft smile. If Thea hadn't seen Laurel shaking when she came to her in the café, she would even believe that right now everything was truly ok.

"Yeah, and I can stay here, you're surely not ejecting me in the cold night?"

Laurel laughed, lightly. "You won't sleep on a park bench, Thea," she remarked. "Go home. You need more rest than my couch. And you need to pack. And say goodbye to your family, I'm sure your mother will at least want to know where you're going…"

"I can call mom, and I can buy all that I need," Thea was immovable.

"Thea," Laurel pulled on her authoritative tone from her lawyer days. It was strange to realize that those days were truly past her. Whatever decision the board would come to – her reputation was tarnished. But she didn't dwell on the realization, "Thea, if we're really going tomorrow – we both have a lot to do tonight."

"But Laurel…"

"You'll have me for days," she said softly. "I promise," she bound herself to her words. "We'll talk then. Tonight… I'm tired. Please, Thea. Go home and rest."

Thea looked skeptical for a moment, and Laurel wondered whether she had any more strength to try and fend her off. But then Thea relented. She hugged Laurel, squeezed tight before letting go, "Tomorrow then."

"Bright and early," Laurel acknowledged.

Oliver waited for his sister to leave the building and get in her car. Then he quickly climbed up the fire-escape stairs to the roof and entered the building, just so he could knock on Laurel's door as a civilized person. _Knock, knock._

The first thing that Laurel got stuck on shortly after Thea left was… ridiculously… her sugar and spice shelf in the kitchen. She'd opened it when she offered Thea tea, and she'd barely batted an eyelid over what she saw there then, but when Thea left… It was insignificant. Truly, before she rarely paid it any attention, but now it infuriated her as much as it hurt. Her mother _always_ reorganized her kitchen shelves whenever she was left in there. It wasn't even that her mother was much of a cook, she just liked things _her_ way. And as Laurel had come home to her perfectly cleaned apartment and reorganized kitchen… _Knock, knock._

Carelessly she put down the parcel of sugar, spilling the white granules everywhere. She opened the door with Thea's name on her lips. And froze when she saw who was standing on her doorstep.

"Hi… uhm… Laurel."

She felt the muscles in her hands clench and unclench. She felt an irresistible urge to slap him. It was too late for that – she knew. If she wanted to do it, she should have done it that night. That terrible night when he had shown up at her place with _her sister._ Again. If she did it now - it wouldn't fix anything that was wrong with her, and he'd only pretend to understand why.

"What do you want, Oliver?"

"I was worried," he said, edging closer. Slightly wondering why, she hadn't invited him inside yet. Surely things between them weren't as bad off as when he had first come back.

"Why?" it was more of a sigh than a question.

"I was worried about you," he said as if that explained everything.

"Yes, you said that," she kept the door handle firmly in her hand, and braced herself against the frame of the door. "Why are you _here?"_

"I wanted to check up on you," he replied, a little flustered.

For a moment Laurel wondered whether Thea had sent him. Whether she had told him to check on her. But she dismissed that thought quickly. She _knew_ Oliver. He did what he wanted to do. Whatever Thea had said or _not_ said to him didn't matter.

"I thought you were done running after me," she had wanted to say – _fine, now you have, please go_. But she hadn't. It felt rather masochistic – to pick at the dead carcass of her own soul. Then again, she realized she probably needed him to say that again. Needed closure. After all _she_ wasn't _done_ with him. She was heartbroken and plain broken. She was angry and hurt, and lost. But she wasn't done. Oh, how she wished at that very moment that she had jumped and spared herself this confrontation.

"Laurel, you have to know, that…"

"What? What do I _have_ to know?" she interrupted, everything bubbling over. "That you promised you'd never leave me, but you always do? Or that you're sleeping with my sister? Again? What do I have to know? That you came back and apologized, and we… And then you did it all _again!"_ she was nearly screaming by this point. Against all odds, she had given him her heart again, and he had left her. He left when Tommy died and she needed him. And when he came back… And Sara came back. He fell in with her sister, again. She clung to the doorframe, as if it was the only thing holding her upright.

"That is…" _not true_ , he wanted to say. He wanted to deny everything she said, because it couldn't be true. He loved her. He protected her. He built his morality around her. And here she was… Saying that he betrayed her, left her as if he had never cared for her.

"I don't want to hear it," she gasped, trying to speak and breathe. Just to breathe.

"Laurel, please…"

"Leave."

"Laurel," _listen to me._

"I swear to god, if you don't leave right now I will file a restraining order and call the cops every time you're within a hundred paces of me," she spat angrily, venomously. In that moment everything that had festered for years came out like pus from infected wound.

"You don't….," Oliver could hardly speak, his throat felt so tight. "You don't have to do that. I'll go."

"Good. Go," she threw all that was left of her strength in those words. In that defiance.

He retreated. "I…"

"No," she interrupted. "You don't get to say that. You don't. Go."

But he hadn't wanted to apologize like she thought. There were no entreaties that he wanted to plead with her. _I love you._ He wanted to confess. And she was deaf to his words. Everything he had feared, everything he had worked for and simultaneously tried to avoid had just come true – she hated him, and she was perfectly justified. He flinched when he heard her door slam closed.

IKYWT

She slammed the door closed. And fell to her knees. Her first breath was a shuddering sob and the next wasn't better. It hurt like her bones were breaking apart inside, she thumped on her chest with her fist once, twice – it didn't get easier to draw breath. She tried to cover her mouth, to quieten the noise, but the whole world was falling apart and she couldn't, she couldn't, she couldn't. She slid backwards, her hands catching her on the floorboards of her apartment. The lines between the boards seemed so sharp, the wood so rough. It was like her whole world narrowed on that small spot.

And tears were still falling. She cried, merciless to her vocal cords. She _loved_ him and it hurt more than hating him ever would. She had danced around it for years. She had been wary of falling for him. She had been blind to him when she had been in love, and for all the years he had been presumed dead – she had loved him. And she had tried to reason herself out of it with grief, and with anger and betrayal, but it just didn't work that way. She couldn't reason out of how just seeing him made her heart beat faster.

She couldn't _take it_ anymore. Some days were perfect. Some moments were so magnificent that everything else seemed to pale in comparison. There had been days when she had known that he was there for her. That she was important to him. She knew – just like she knew every smile he had. She knew when he smiled for her. And when he did not.

Because there were days when he tore her apart, and all she could do was try and not to show the damage done. There were days when in the morning he promised her the world and in the afternoon he destroyed it. There were days when she wasn't important enough. There were days when he didn't understand her at all. There were days and weeks and entire years when he had left her all alone in the darkness and cold.

And she really tried – to live for the moments when everything was perfect, because… She wouldn't want to change him. It wouldn't be fair to him. How could she explain what was missing if she hardly understood what it was that she needed? And she didn't want to demand anything of him. He was… Like he was. And it would be delusional to try and change him, but honestly – she realized, it wasn't fair to her either. How many times she had to let her heart be broken by him until it was enough?

Was it to be – until there was nothing left? As she gasped for breath only to cry again, she knew there _was_ nothing left. She was at the very end of her rope. She wept as if she could somehow scream, cough or tear out of her chest the monster that seemed to have taken residence there. It was strangling her and she cried with force and with pain.

And, yes, it was unfair to him – but Oliver was at the center of it. Somehow her love for him had changed – from apples and ice-cream that lit up her every day; it had turned into ibuprofen that just masked the symptoms of a disease. And making him leave now… It felt like amputation. A gaping, bleeding wound that wasn't as much a cure as just a different way of dying.

IKYWT

And despite Laurel's threats – Oliver hadn't left. He went out of her sight, and found his perch on her fire-escape again. She had banished him, but he couldn't leave her now, just like he hadn't been able to stay away from her as the Hood, or Arrow, or in any version of himself and the vigilante that he brought forth. And he heard her.

He could only wonder how she didn't hear him, because hearing her cry out made him miss a step and land hard on the stairs. At first he had been ready to charge in and defend her from whoever was attacking her – he had been already at her window, when he realized that she wasn't being attacked. At least not by anything that he could defend her from.

Then he just sat down – his knees shaky and weak. He had never heard her cry like that. She sounded like she was being torn apart. It took a moment for him to gather himself enough to crawl up a few steps and hide. He pressed his back against the wall of the building, his ear near her window. He heard everything.

The sounds of her wet sobs ravaged him. He'd take any hit, knife, bullet or arrow if it would only stop her from crying. He scrunched his eyes shut as if that would help him escape the reality, but it only enhanced his hearing. Every shuddered breath she took, every scream ate at him – he'd much rather experience acid on his flesh, tearing it off than the way she cried, because this hurt more. And yet he stayed.

He didn't move an inch. He didn't even notice when answering tears wet his eyes. He just listened to her torment wishing with all his heart that there was anything he could do to stop it. He wished he could swoop in and cradle her in his arms, and hush her cries, and give her everything – the world and every star in the sky. He wished she never had to know how it felt to cry like this. To him – she was made for smiles and sunbeams shining off of crystal ornaments. And yet, he knew that he had caused this. He knew that she wouldn't accept any comfort he might give, and the only thing she had asked for – he couldn't give. He couldn't leave her. So he endured the only punishment he could now devise for himself – he stayed, and he listened.

He had heard many people scream – he had heard them scream in torture, in pain. He remembered his own screams. He remembered those of people that he had _made_ to scream. None of it – before or after he embraced his darker side made his blood run as cold as Laurel. She sounded like she was _dying._ And there was nothing he could do. When he heard a broken hitch in her cry, he banged the back of his head against the wall he was hiding behind. He wanted to feel pain, any pain – but more than anything – her pain, just so she wouldn't have to.

He stayed until she fell silent. He stayed until darkness turned to pink dawn. He stayed.

IKYWT

Neither of them noticed the hairline cracks in her windows come morning.


	11. Chile 2

**Chile 2**

Oliver wasn't sure what was it that caught his attention – he had been staring at his boots, listening intently for any movement from Laurel when _something_ caught his eye. He looked up, and once he knew that he was looking for something – he quickly found the culprit. It was a tiny beam off a reflective lens. Someone else was keeping watch on Laurel.

He had grown cold during the night, but he only noticed it now, when his blood seemed to boil with rage burning a path from his heart to his limbs. Someone was tailing, harassing, pursuing Laurel. Finally, there was something that he could act on. He snarled like a forest animal in fury, and nimbly rose to his feet. As if he hadn't spent the entire night sitting in one position on iron stairs.

The street was too wide to shoot a wire and slide across, so he jumped – entire floors at a time until he hit the ground running. In the misty dawn, he was a shadow among shadows. He run across the street, found the building that he'd seen… _someone_ on, but before he could climb it – he saw more movement. He ran between the buildings as someone ran over them.

Oliver passed three streets over till he lost the sight of his prey. He shot an arrow to the roof – and was lifted along to the top. He grasped the edge and heaved himself over it – rolling on the gravel. A shot rang over his head. He ducked, rolled and shot an arrow that was caught. His eyes widened. Not many people could catch an arrow in a flight. Not an arrow that he had fired. And even less people could run away from him. A cold feeling settled in his belly, as he rose and continued his pursuit.

He jumped across a five story drop. Landed, rolled and fired an arrow that caught his prey in the leg. A bullet caught Oliver in the shoulder. The Kevlar lining of his jacket groaning under the pressure. He spluttered as he rose – trying to shake off the hurt and the daze in his head. And yet his opponent was already on his feet. A bloody arrow lay on the ground. "What the…" He shot the gun out of his opponent's hand. It fell over the edge of the roof. It's clatter on the ground below – surprisingly loud.

Oliver hardly dared name the last time he had had to fight this quickly. With this much attention. He didn't recognize his opponent's face, but the movements… When Oliver punched with his right – it was blocked. His left grazed the other man's ribs. As he kicked, he was grabbed and thrown to the ground. But Oliver didn't stay down – he kept moving. Kicking out with his other leg. On his feet before his opponent even turned around. Triple hit at the kidneys and the other man didn't even react.

Punch, turn. Kick, jump. Oliver ended up on his back again, but he managed to land a vicious kick to the other guy's face as he fell. He was starting to feel winded. He got back up. As he always did. Punch. Right. Duck. Punch. Left. Left. Left. Take a hit. Punch. Right. And in the solar plexus. Left. Face. Oliver landed a hit that broke the other guy's nose. And yet his opponent paid no attention to the blood streaming down his face. Oliver linked his fingers and hit viciously at the soft side in his opponent's back as the guy tackled him – but it seemed that in this fight – only one of them felt pain.

He managed to grab an arrow as he was pushed to the ground, and slam it between the 4th and 5th ribs on the left side in his attacker. It ought to have killed the guy, but he roared and managed to lift and throw Oliver off the roof before collapsing.

Oliver landed painfully on the fire escape stairs. When the black spots disappeared from the front of his eyes – and he finally made his way back to the rooftop. It was empty.

IKYWT

Laurel woke sharply. With an intake of breath. If it was a nightmare that had shaken her out of her exhausted sleep, she did not remember it. She was still on the floor. Near the door. Her hand went to her throat as she pushed herself up in a sitting position. For a moment, she wished to stay in this state of peace.

She was afraid that if she tried to speak – her throat would kill her with pain. She had not spared it as she cried. Her brows furrowed as she saw pieces of glass around her. The stained-glass frame in the inner door arch was shattered. She tried to remember if she had smashed it in her hysteria. It was embarrassing enough to realize that apparently, she had passed out right there on the floor. She could not recall how long she had cried. At least no one had seen her fall apart so completely.

She swallowed testing if that would hurt. It didn't.

Then she took a deep breath and got up. Shaking as a newborn colt. She had promised Thea that she would be ready. One glance at the electronic clock in the living room told her that it was barely 6 AM.

She made it to the couch. Dropped down sitting on it. And buried her face in her hands. This couldn't continue. This shaking. These tears. Her face burned from the salt that had dried there. She knew she couldn't go on like this. This was exactly what she hadn't wanted to feel. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid. In a moment of utter clarity – she could see how this was the moment, the feeling, the tragedy of how easy it would be to reach for her handbag, for her pills. How easy to...

And Laurel wanted to howl in protest and anger. She hadn't done it when she had the chance and now it felt like... a falsehood. Like something that she no longer deserved no matter the agony. Because _nothing_ was better. _Nothing_ was easier. Every little victory she had had between Slade's apartment and her own now crumbled underneath the weight of her anguish.

She stomped on every sensation she had with a vicious sense of detachment. She was a fighter. She got up. She went into her bedroom and found her suitcase in her closet. She resolutely packed only the most colorful of her things. Wiping tears from her cheeks, she gathered together every item that she had brought home from work and packed it together as well. She gathered all the things that weren't hers. Gifts, things that friends had left at her place. Some things from Tommy and put it in another box.

She showered and dressed without allowing a single word or spare thought to enter her mind to slow her down. When Thea rang at her door, Laurel was ready. Her apartment was a mess, though. What wasn't in her suitcase or in the boxes she had scrounged was dumped on the floor or on her bed. To have spare boxes, she had emptied them of their previous contents – dropping things carelessly as if she no longer cared. She didn't.

"Wow, are you... redecorating?" Thea paused by the living room doorframe.

"Moving, actually," Laurel replied.

"A… What?" it would be understatement to say that Thea was surprised.

"I'm selling the apartment. I'm done with it. And all of this," Laurel gestured to the mess. "Do you mind if we drop by the landlord and leave these with him? These actually have destinations. Other than landfill, that is."

"Are you…" _sure._ "That is, do you need help packing?" Thea rephrased. She knew how it felt to need to get rid of things. To move. To change.

"No, I called a moving company. They'll do everything while we're away. And a realtor as well," Laurel replied offhandedly as she took one last look around. She had done all that this morning. The information of who to call, what to ask at the back of her mind. She had looked up the information on a whim – when she'd been at Slade's penthouse. But apparently, just like in a play: if there is a gun prop on the stage then by the end of the play – it will fire.

"Laurel…"

"Let's go, Thea," one box under her arm, another wedged between her arm and hip, and a suitcase handle in her other palm. She was leaving.

Thea hesitated. Her eyes wide and worried as she took in the mess of Laurel's place. The implications. She fingered her smartphone in her pocket and for a moment considered calling her brother. But then thought better of it. She didn't need Ollie's blessing or guidance to be Laurel's friend. She turned on her heel and left. She made sure to close the door behind herself, but she had no key. And Laurel didn't seem to care. The door stayed unlocked.

Nearly an hour later as they stood in the airport and waited for the boarding of their flight - Thea took up her phone again. She stared at the unlit screen as she tried to come to a decision. Her mother knew where she was off to (so it wasn't like _she_ was dropping off the face of the earth) – though she had sworn mom to secrecy in case Ollie came around asking. She didn't doubt that given the chance her brother would be on the next plane out. Whether he was angry or worried about Laurel – he'd turn up like a bad penny. After all – it was Oliver and Laurel. _Always and forever._

And as much as Laurel's forever seemed to have come to an end – did Oliver deserve to be left out of the loop? Thea was torn between her loyalty to her brother and her friendship with Laurel. And then she pressed down on the power button and turned the device off entirely. Ollie didn't let her in. She could only hazard a guess at what he thought or wanted. His actions certainly didn't speak in his favor. And Laurel had called her _. Her. Thea._ She was not going to betray that trust.

IKYWT

A shuttle service from the fancy hotel Thea had booked picked them up at the Santiago airport. Thea watched as Laurel barely seemed to go through the motions – sit down, get up, walk to the plane, walk from the plane, go through customs, get to the car. Thea tried to keep up chatter to fill the silence even when Laurel didn't respond. And she took care of everything.

And that set the tone for the next week. Laurel seemed to drop in her hotel room and if Thea had left her alone – she wouldn't have moved from the bed. But Thea was not dissuaded. She didn't ask what was wrong – sensing that it was too soon. Instead she did everything else. She ordered room service when Laurel couldn't be persuaded (or dragged, like, physically dragged (Thea had ended up on her ass and Laurel had laughed for the first time in their whole trip)) from bed and made sure her friend ate.

Thea also managed to book every type of spa that the resort had. And she made sure Laurel got there with her. It didn't matter to her whether Laurel felt like getting up. Whether she felt like brushing her hair or showering. She got her to every massage appointment, to the mud baths and the aroma therapy sessions. And after nearly two weeks of constant pampering – something finally changed.

They were at the pool side. On a lounger, hidden from sun in the shade of a large parasol. And Laurel suddenly smelt salt in the air. From the ocean. It wasn't far, it's just that she hadn't noticed before. She felt like she was waking up. Nearly two weeks ago – she'd gotten to the airport and she'd… just shut down. She'd been too exhausted to keep feeling everything that she felt and too… hurt to keep hurting. If she'd been alone – she probably would've been stuck to the bed like a wet chewing gum to the underside of a school table.

But she wasn't. She felt fresh. She was fresh. Her skin supple and with a healthy glow. Her whole body languid from the professional ministrations of the resort masseuse. And finally, her mind was ready to catch up. "I tried to kill myself," the words just slipped out.

Thea nearly choked on a mouthful of a Sex On The Beach. "I figured that something bad happened."

"I can't… I can't explain why," Laurel finally looked at her. She could hardly explain it to herself. She could see all the reasons bubbling like a barrel full of boiling pitch somewhere at the core of her. And she did not want to touch that. She was afraid that if she did – she'd be like the birds they show on Discovery Channel. All caught up in the oil and blackness and stuck. Dying.

Thea nodded. "That's okay," she said. Mulling over whether Laurel was ready to say more. Whether she should say something more. A moment later she patted Laurel's hand. "How do you feel about surfing?"

A small, thankful smile blossomed on Laurel's face. "I take it you have plans?"

"Hell yeah," Thea grinned.


	12. Chile 3

**Chile 3**

It wasn't particularly conscious. It's not like Laurel _wanted_ to talk. In a way, she even despised the idea that she had to pour all that ugliness out on someone else. There was something dark in that choking feeling that wanted her to keep silent – guilt mixed with shame and fear. But things kept slipping out.

She laughed when she finally fell on the wet sand on the beach, her surfboard still halfway in water. She was exhausted and she felt… happy. Despite all the reasons she shouldn't – in that moment she felt light and free. And she said, "I'm so angry at all of them."

Thea lounged next to her. Not nearly out of breath as much as Laurel. She just nudged Laurel's knee with her own playfully and listened. There was no judgment on her face. She offered no justification for the people they'd left back in Starling, neither did she give advice to Laurel. To be honest – Thea didn't even know what she ought to say.

And it was Thea's wordless acceptance that wormed its way under the black armor Laurel didn't even want to build around herself. She didn't have to tell all the story – she didn't have to exhaust herself with the details. She didn't have to keep telling it until she drowned in the memories. She could just… Let something off her chest and Thea would help her move on.

And as days went on beside that dark monster in her ribcage – another feeling grew. And one evening she collapsed, crying gently – that she was just so _grateful._ Thea patted her head, slightly horrified how just having someone be there for her made Laurel so surprised and thankful. Laurel. Thea had always thought that Laurel had a million friends. _Everyone_ liked her. Most people outright _loved_ her. How Laurel had ended up so alone – it was appalling.

So she assured Laurel that it was okay. That it wasn't a burden. That it was all okay. And resolved to never be like everyone else. It pushed all of Thea's buttons when Laurel was so honest and raw with her. All Thea had ever wanted was for her family to let her in. And Laurel was family. She was family whether it ever worked out with Ollie or not.

IKYWT

"So, we'd like the National Park…" Thea laid out all the brochures she had acquired until she found the one she was looking for, "Torres Del… Paine," she looked at the receptionist for quick confirmation on the pronunciation before moving on. "And the desert – Attacama? And Valle de la Luna."

The receptionist opened his mouth to say something but Thea pushed some other brochures his way.

"And the Easter Island, and the lake… region, and the other national park," she shuffled through some of the papers, "Well, basically I want to see everything worth seeing from the best places. So I want the best guides – not just general access. And of course, the supplies for the hikes, the transport, the hotels in between, and you get the idea," she smiled charmingly.

"I can book a tour, miss, but we have travel agencies for…"

Thea leaned in, putting on her most charismatic expression and said, "But I wouldn't know which of the agencies is any good. And I really want it all done quickly and now. There's a bit of a time constraint. I promise I won't forget your help," her magic, black credit card flashed between her fingers and the brochures.

"Well…"

"Thank you!" she grinned. "You're amazing," she winked. "Just charge it all to the room."

IKYWT

"It was a really good idea," Laurel said as she found her balance, resting her hands against the straps of her backpack.

"Ugh," Thea dropped on the nearest boulder. Their guide was scouting out the road ahead.

"The view is … amazing," Laurel continued as she looked around. They were on a rocky hill. Lush woods covered the larger hills nearby. And then the mountains across the valley that seemed so close as if she could reach out her hand and touch the white peaks. "And the air…"

Thea grumbled something that she intended as agreement, but sounded more like disagreement. "I think I'm out of water," she kicked her backpack. They'd been hiking for the past three days. For the past two and a half they'd seen amazing sights. The air was so crisp and after living in city all her life – the sounds of nature sounded so… weird to Thea. And, honestly, she agreed with Laurel – it was amazing. But if Laurel hadn't seemed so lively and happy – Thea would have gladly just returned to someplace that had indoor bathrooms.

"There should be a stream ahead," Laurel placated, the guide had said so. "But I think I have some left," she rummaged in her backpack for a minute before finding the bottle, and handing it to Thea.

Thea reached for the water and… A sound of gunshot, impossibly loud in the valley, startled her and she dropped the bottle. "What…," she didn't get to finish, because Laurel pulled her to her feet and back towards the hillside they'd come up.

The hilltop was a bare, exposed place. Excellent for enjoying the view. Unsuitable for hiding. "We need to get to cover," she hissed to Thea, pulling her along, when Thea hesitated, wanting to grab her backpack. "Forget it."

A million thoughts run through her mind. It could be nothing. It could be just poachers. It could be nothing. She swallowed, her throat impossibly dry. Their guide did not carry a gun. Laurel knew that for a fact.

They hadn't come through on any marked path. Laurel didn't have to pull Thea as they run until they were halfway down the hill and in the cover of trees. Five steps within, Laurel stopped. She was out of breath as she tried to speak, "We can't leave." Not altogether. "I'll go and try to find out what happened," if this was maybe all a big misunderstanding.

Thea's answering glance told Laurel that it was pretty clear that whatever happened was nothing good.

"We can't leave Daniel," she added.

"Obviously," Thea replied impatiently. "Also I left my bag." Meaning that if whoever was out there meant harm – they'd know that there were more people here.

"I know, I'll try to pick it up," but they couldn't have stayed in an open space with no idea where the shots were coming from.

Thea frowned. "I'm going with you."

"One of us needs to stay safe and get help if…"

Thea shook her head nearly violently. "Help is at least a two days' hike away and Daniel had the only satellite phone. There's no way either of us makes it out of here alone." A week outdoors with a professional guide was hardly preparation for survival alone.

Laurel bit her lip, painfully. She wanted to protect Thea – to return the favor for everything that Thea had done for her, but… Thea was right. "Okay."

"Let's leave all the stuff here," Laurel shrugged out of her backpack, "And hide it," and tried to cover it by a trunk of tree under some leaves and dirt. "So it doesn't slow us down."

"I hope we can find this spot again afterwards," Thea muttered and looked around, trying to memorize to place.

When they went – they only made it to the edge of the rocky side of the hill until they were noticed. And there was nowhere to run.

IKYWT

As Laurel regained consciousness, in a half-dream state her mind replayed a pivotal moment in her life. Her eyelids trembled as she dreamed.

 _She was standing in a hallway. It was familiar. She was indignant. Fierce and quick like flame on a lighter – burning with anger and hurt. And he was there. Pushing against her like a relentless tsunami. Wave after wave came accusations. Blame. Taunts. "I'm done caring. Get wasted. Go…"_

 _And she was having none of it. None of that bullshit._

Laurel gasped as she woke. She was having none of it. Her throat dry and itchy. Her lips nearly white. Kicking out as she still felt the fury, the self-righteous indignation surging in her blood. Her feet barely scuffing ground – Laurel laughed. It was a breathless, choked sound and there was very little mirth in it. But she laughed.

"What?" Thea struggled to turn to see her. Her tied, lifted arms limited her field of vision, but she welcomed any sound from her friend. Laurel had fallen silent a while ago and Thea had hoped she was asleep rather than contemplating their miserable situation.

"Oliver is with Sara again," Laurel pulled on the ropes that held her tied at the wrists and hoisted near the ceiling. Another confession slipping out. She wanted to be like the version of her that she'd seen in her dream. She wanted none of this. She wanted the agency, the control of her life and emotions back in her hands. Unapologetically.

"What?" Thea wished she could be shocked. She was certainly disappointed. In a surge of indignation on Laurel's behalf she kicked out – raging against her restraints in a sudden flood of strength. The rope bit into her wrists as she swung in the air.

"You know what he asked me?" Laurel didn't wait for a comment. "Is me losing my job his fault? Is me being drunk his fault? The drugs? Hell, if he knew he could add the suicide attempt to the list and just have me committed," she scoffed and tried to bear down with her whole weight, but it only made her restraints tighter and more excruciating.

"Laurel," Thea said her name when she wanted to say ´ _sorry'._

"And you know what?" Laurel nearly wrenched her shoulder out of its socket as she pulled her arm violently. "It _should_ be his fault. I mean – he and Sara – they _destroyed_ my life for so many years. And I couldn't blame them for so long, because they were dead. And now they're doing it _again._ And I'm still fucking," she cursed with pain – real and remembered, " _haunted_ by it all. That alone should be… should be the reason…"

Thea clenched her eyes closed. It was hard to listen to what Laurel said. Even more because it was true. She wanted to defend her brother – it was a natural instinct – but she couldn't find any words to justify his actions. Not when he was so in the wrong. And it wasn't just the principle – she had seen the fallout from Ollie's actions. She was intimately familiar with the destruction in his wake. Thea loved her brother, but she would not defend him in this.

"And he had the gall to say that he was done… being blamed," Laurel continued, yanking on her ropes harder. The skin on her wrists was raw and nearly gone, but she kept trying to break free. "Taunting me to go and get drunk…" As she spoke – anger became her balm. It was like she didn't feel the pain of the struggle. "But you know what?" she paused, her breath ragged and short.

"I don't… I'm done blaming him too. I'm done hating him. I'm done with _him._ Just like he said he was done with me. Because… I mean…," she exhaled forcefully as she drew her knees to her chest with great effort, and then… with force she kicked her legs out, drawing her weight down, falling… and breaking free. "Because, damn it all, _I want to live_ ," she snarled, her wrists bleeding but free.

Oliver Queen was not going to be the end of her. He had had a hand in her undoing, but, to be honest, Laurel could dish out awards for that achievement to many people. And she was done. She was done being at the mercy of what other people did to her.


	13. Chile 4 (and call to Starling)

**A.N:** My, this was long time coming. I never expected it to take that long and for that I apologize :) Hope you'll enjoy the new chapter.

* * *

 **Chile 4 (and call to Starling)**

She remembered their capture as a murky dream sequence.

 _There was running. Hard ground dissolved into sand underfoot as she slipped and fell down the hillside. Blood, shockingly red, as she scraped half the skin off her palm trying to break the fall by grabbing on a jagged rock that was sticking out of the ground. Colors of the grass and trees all swirled together in a disorienting torrent of green when she heard Thea scream and realized she was no longer beside her._

She remembered helplessness.

 _Arms like steel wrapped around her and lifted her off her feet, dragging her away. No matter how hard she kicked, how desperately she trashed, she couldn't get free. The sky was traitorously tranquil above her. The blueness of the cloudless vastness nearly as terrifying as the strength that was binding her. She was screaming and there was no one to hear._

She remembered relief.

 _When she was tossed on the ground and there was Thea. Curled in a fetal position, but alive. Whole. Laurel forgot the sweat and dust, and dirt that stuck to her like another layer of clothing, as she rolled in the dried mud to get closer to Thea. Her hands were bound, her ankles as well. She couldn't have cared less how it looked. Laughter of their captors never reached her ears as she squirmed to get closer to Thea. She was nearly deaf with relief. Thea's name - her single obsessive thought, since she first had heard Thea scream and realized that she had lost her._

"Laurel?"

Green eyes snapped to meet Thea's gaze. Laurel swayed, falling forwards on her hands from where she was crouching behind large crates, an apology on her lips. After freeing herself and then Thea – they had unanimously decided that they needed to find out what was this place, and then leave as soon as possible. She hadn't meant to get lost in thought, but this simultaneously was the most real and unreal experience of her life.

Here she was – thousands of miles from Starling city. Kidnapped, once again. It wasn't her job, it wasn't her associations – it had to be something about her that seemed to _invite_ such occasions. Once again, she was at the mercy of criminals. _No, never again,_ she reminded herself. It was a mantra that she kept repeating. They had a plan, after all. She and Thea. They would find out what was going on here – what was so important that it warranted capture of three hikers out for a stroll. What _had_ they stumbled upon? And then they would find Daniel, the satellite phone, call for help and get as far as possible from here. Laurel wasn't a victim. She had a plan.

They sneaked around a building. Though to call it a building was generous. It was a large shack with flimsy roof and flimsy walls of curved, old metal. They kneeled in the small bush that grew along the wall and peered inside the building through the rust holes in the wall. Laurel expected drugs. Perhaps guns. What she saw shocked her to the core. Thea pushed nearly her whole fist in her mouth to hide the gasp that escaped her.

In groups of ten, perhaps even fifteen, arranged in circles and shackled were human beings. Women, mainly, but also children – girls and boys. Laurel hazarded that the youngest she saw had to be a preschooler.

Laurel collapsed, her back against the wall. The people that had captured her and Thea weren't drug dealers or gun traders. They were human traffickers. It made a strange amount of sense – now she didn't have to wonder why they had been captured instead of executed on the spot. And she also realized that her previous plan was as good as gone now. And for a moment fear and sense of doom seemed crushing. _Why her?_

But when she turned her face to meet Thea's gaze she knew the answer. It wasn't _just_ her. And however, terrifying the situation – there was no way she could just run and leave these people here to their fate. If it was just her and Thea, and Daniel (whom they still had to find) then it would be relatively easy to just hide out until the kidnappers were gone, until they were picked up by the police or the forest rangers, or anyone, but if they still followed that plan – nobody would ever hear of these people again. They would be long gone by the time cavalry arrived.

Laurel took a deep breath and nodded, decisively. She answered the question in Thea's eyes.

She had gone into law to protect people. To help those that couldn't help themselves. This wasn't that much of a stretch – at least, that's what she tried to tell herself, as she signaled to Thea, that they had to move away from here, behind the tree line that was at the back of the barn.

"We can't leave them here," Thea said, dropping on the ground behind a large bush. A small snake crawled over her hand where she was balancing herself against the ground and she nearly bit her tongue off, trying to hold off a startled scream.

"I'm not…," Laurel started then shook her head, and started again. It didn't matter what she wasn't sure of. "Have you seen Daniel?"

Thea quickly pulled her hand back from the ground and shook her head, "Maybe he's somewhere with them were we can't see."

Laurel pulled her lips in a thin line, full of doubt, "It's more likely he would have been thrown in with us." The unspoken conclusion being that – their guide was probably dead. Neither of them wanted to say it out loud. "They will notice we've escaped soon," Laurel said a moment later, her gaze watchful along the side of the building where they had sneaked around it. "Whatever we're going to do, we have to do it soon."

"They had to get here somehow," Thea continued. "I thought those trucks were for supplies, but…," now she realized their true purpose.

"Trucks will only get so far on this terrain," Laurel frowned. They had hiked for _days._ "They have to have some other way of getting out of here," she thought for a moment, "I'd bet an airplane. Something that will take them to the coast."

"Airplane? How could they get away with it? There have to be some radars and…," she immediately thought of how tightly air-traffic was controlled back home.

"Not if they fly low enough, and rare enough not to get noticed," Laurel replied. "And they probably have bribed a lot of people too," she had gone after cartels in court, she could imagine the web of lies and bribes that was spun to keep this location and its purpose secret from authorities.

Thea was silent for a moment. She'd lie if she said she wasn't scared. Any sensible person would be. But any other choice was unacceptable, "We're not leaving them here," she repeated her first words.

Laurel met her eyes, she saw the same trepidation in them that she felt, "No, we're not."

IKYWT

Meanwhile, Slade just walked out of the elevator in his penthouse when the echoing ding of the opening doors mixed with the old fashioned 32-polyphony ringtone that his smartphone had. He frowned when he saw the caller ID.

"Boss, boss, you there?" the connection was rough, the voice on the other side, even more so.

"What have I told you about calling me on this number?" Slade grimaced and pulled a hand through his hair, in an effort to calm the rising anger. It was far easier to get mad these days than climb back down from those moods. And he had already made sure that Oliver would be busy this night, so he couldn't even exercise his demons on that sorry excuse for a human being.

"It's just… It's just," the man on the other end stumbled upon his words, "we've run into a bit of a pickle."

"A pickle?" Slade clearly enunciated, unimpressed.

"There were these hikers who came across us. We nabbed them, but what do we do now?"

Slade inhaled noisily, his annoyance spiking, "Get rid of them."

"Because we thought, maybe we can… Some additional cash… But, I hear ya, I hear ya."

Slade ended the call before he had to listen to more of that. He threw the phone carelessly on the couch as he walked past it and went for the boxes that were stacked on his desk. Examining them were his favorite pastime these past few weeks. Everything in them was part of a puzzle that he tried to piece together.

He took the book from the top of the box and settled on the couch with it. It was inscribed – _You may not have gone where I intended you to go, but may you get where you need to be, to Laurel from Mom._ Slade rolled his eyes at the pretentious paraphrased quote. He wondered whether the woman who wrote the words had even read the story they came from or just fashioned the phrase to her own liking without bothering to find the original context.

He wasn't surprised that Laurel had chosen to throw this away.

Weeks ago, when he had checked Laurel's browser history on his laptop, he had been thoroughly amused to see that she had been looking into selling her apartment and moving. The thought that she couldn't get far enough from Oliver that she would even change her living place was utterly delightful. And too good of an opportunity to pass up. He had had his people watch her – for her own safety, considering her state, and to keep tabs – so he knew full well when she went away, with whom, and where.

He wasn't afraid that his plans would be disrupted with her being away – to be honest, he felt that absence from Starling City could only be good for her, and his plans weren't _that_ time sensitive. He was more than capable of keeping Oliver on his toes and anxious in the meantime. He did not examine why exactly her well being was of importance within his plans.

So, he had let her go with that sister of Oliver's and graciously had distracted Queen to prevent him from following. The fact that it was good for Laurel and torturous for Oliver was only a bonus.

He had also bought the moving company that Laurel had contracted to clean out her place, and instead of actual employees – he had sent his people. Her possessions offered more of an insight into her than a file compiled from her professional activities ever could. The fact that one day she might feel that she had been hasty throwing everything away and could wish to reclaim something – was only a stray thought in his mind. After all, he still hadn't decided how long she would live – considering how he wanted to teach Oliver a lesson the kid would never forget.

Thinking of Oliver only made him angry. Slade put the book away lest he crush it in his spiking fury.

He tried to turn his mind to something else. And recalled the last report he had gotten on Laurel. His agent had reported that she and Thea Queen had left the resort they had been holed up for the past few weeks to do some nature exploration. "Nature exploration," Slade repeated in a whisper, brow furrowing. "It couldn't be..."

He dived for his phone. It took entirely too long for the call to connect, "If you lay a hand…"

"Boss!" the voice on the other end was breathless and surprised.

"Tell me," _and don't you dare lie._

"They're gone," the man rasped, he was wringing his cap in his hands, but there was no way for Slade to know that. "They're just gone."

"You…," they were dead. The men – the whole operation – they were dead men as soon as Slade heard those words. He already started calculating how long it would take him to call an airstrike to burn that place off the face of the earth. He had friends in _very_ high places. Oliver Queen had no idea.

"They escaped, sorry, boss," and while gut told him that the smart thing would have been to lie and tell that instead of escaping – the girls were dead, there was something so intimidating about his boss, that he could not lie even over the phone and half a world away.

Slade had forgotten how relief feels, so when he felt it wash over him, it nearly hurt. "Find them," he ordered, "And if there's a hair out of place on any of them, you will not like what I will do to you."


End file.
